


Heaven is Betting   on Us

by goldheartedsky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, BAMF Sarah Rogers, Blink And You’ll Miss It Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky has abandonment issues, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint is an ex-con (kinda??), Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Did I mention heavy pining?, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gentle Kissing, Homophobia in religion, Immigrant sentiments, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha and Sam Are The Best Couple, Natasha is the mom friend, Oral Sex, PTSD attack, Referenced Pregnancy/Child Loss, Religious Discussion, Rimming, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve and Bucky get drunk and get married, Steve carries a lot of guilt from his time in the Army, Strangers to Lovers, Yoga, during Natasha and Sam’s wedding week, sex as a coping mechanism, smut to come in later chapters, stress smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheartedsky/pseuds/goldheartedsky
Summary: When Steve wakes up in Vegas, a week before his friends’ wedding, he’s drunk and hungover. His morning gets even worse when he finds a stranger in his bed with a wedding ring. It gets evenworsewhen he finds one on his own finger.When Bucky wakes up in a stranger’s hotel room, he assumes it’s a one night fling. He’s halfway across the country running from his past. He’s not ready for another relationship, let alone being married to someone.The first thing in their minds is an annulment. But, after they start to get to know each other, they make a pact to stick it out until they go back home.They have nine days to decide whether they will part their separate ways, or stick to their drunken vows. For better or for worse.





	1. Saturday: Paper

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written a chaptered fic before, but after this hit 15k, I decided to split it up by day.
> 
> [This Bucky](http://i68.tinypic.com/117zigo.jpg)  
> [With this Steve](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/chris-evans-actor/images/0/07/Nanny_Diaries-1.png/revision/latest?cb=20140830062056)
> 
> Thanks to R, because they keep me writing! 
> 
> Note: I will be updating tags as the chapters go on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday morning with a hangover from hell, the boys meet in an unexpected and unplanned way.

* * *

 

 _7_ : _51am_

Steve wakes up behind the couch of his hotel room, shirt halfway up his chest, with the hangover from hell boring its way through his skull.

“What the fuck... Jesus...” he groans quietly, peeling his face off the carpet. His stomach lurches as he pushes himself up on his hands and knees. The room spins and, god damn it, he’s still drunk. “Sam!” he grumbles, instantly regretting the decision to raise his voice as it rattles around painfully in his head.

There’s a pair of loafers he definitely doesn’t recognize laying haphazardly by the door and, oh no.

“Shit,” Steve grumbles, tugging his shirt down over his stomach again. His slacks are laying on the arm of the couch and his belt is in the bathroom floor. What the hell happened last night? He has bits and pieces of the night, a slight recollection of the seven shots lined up on the bar, but there’s no way he drank all of those, did he?

He can hear faint snoring from the bed as he grabs the rest of his clothes, a mess of dark hair sticking out from the crisp white comforter. Steve’s face burns pink as he shoves his wallet in his slacks. He never had one night stands, let alone out here on vacation. Stupid fucking Sam and his stupid fucking bachelor party. He piles all of his clothes in his arms before hurrying out the door, kicking it closed quickly.

The hotel hallway is thankfully empty as he pulls his pants on, shoving his feet in his shoes. The hallway spins as he buttons his shirt and it takes all his willpower not to throw up on the tacky carpet.

Wait a second.

Steve looks up from the buttons on his shirt to stare at the numbers on the hotel room door. His hotel room.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He is still far too drunk to deal with this and honestly would love nothing more than to just pass back out here in the floor, but there is a random man sleeping in his hotel room while Steve stupidly locked himself out.

Letting out a loud groan, he leans his head against the wall scrubs a hand over his face. He pounds on the door, muttering, “Lemme back in!”

It takes a couple seconds of silence before there’s a loud thump, a muffled groan, and soft footsteps coming from behind the door. The lock clicks open and a tired looking man dressed only in his underwear pulls the door open, rubbing his face. “Whatcha want?” he mumbles quietly, finally opening his shockingly blue eyes.

The man is about his height, tall and lanky with just enough muscle on his frame to make Steve’s head stop spinning for a second. There’s a glint of silver on the man’s left hand and Steve wants to punch himself in the face. It’s bad enough that he had a one night stand, but a one night stand with a married man is about a million times worse. Shifting from one foot to the other, he shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters, “Umm... this is kinda my...”

The other man winces at him talking and opens the door, shushing him. “You’re too loud,” he whispers, holding his head as he steps back into the hotel room. “Why are you so loud?”

Steve turns six shades of crimson, kicking his shoes off again. “Why are you in my hotel room?” he grumbles, dropping back down on the couch. His stomach lurches again as he drops his head between his knees. “Jesus, my fucking head...”

The brunet sways slightly and Steve wonders if he’s still as drunk as he is. “Judging by the three used condoms on the floor,” the man says, catching himself on the doorframe as he trails off in thought. “My name’s James, well, Bucky, by the way. I don’t think you ever asked last night.”

“I can’t believe I fucked a married man,” he whines, not even looking up at the other man.

 _Bucky_ , he reminds himself. Bucky the married man.

“The fuck are you talking about,” Bucky mumbles, dropping down to lay on the rug on the floor. He buries his face in the crook of his arm tiredly. “‘m not married, dummy.” Through the drunken tiredness in the brunet’s voice, he can almost pick out the hint of a Brooklyn accent.

Steve kicks Bucky in the shin, looking up from his knees as he says, “You’ve got a wedding ring on. Pretty sure that means you’re married.”

“You got one too. That mean _you’re_ married?” Bucky retorts, cracking an eye open.

The stomach acid rises in his esophagus when Steve looks at his left hand. There’s a sparkling silver band around his ring finger, one that matches the band around Bucky’s finger. He swallows down the bile and chokes out a laugh, loud and a little too strained. “Oh my god, this isn’t fucking happening,” he breathes, the urge to vomit too much to ignore now.

He grabs the closest container and empties the contents of his stomach into the ice bucket. Bucky groans at the sound, mumbling, “You're disgusting.”

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Steve says, “Don’t talk to your husband like that.”

The wave of nausea washes over him again as the brunet sits up a little too suddenly, eyes wide. Bucky turns a shade of green that Steve knows that he must be sporting as well and says, “What are you talking about.” He looks down at the ring on his finger and then up at the one on Steve’s hand. “We can’t be...”

Steve doesn’t hear the rest of it as he throws up again.

He lays face down on the bed for far too long, listening to Bucky scramble around the room, drunkenly digging through the mess of the hotel room. He has no memory of even meeting the other man, let alone marrying him, and is beginning to wonder if it’s all just a joke. Stupid fucking Sam and his stupid fucking bachelor party.

“Found it!” he hears Bucky crow, the edges of his words still slurring together.

Maybe it’s not a joke after all. Maybe it’s just the worst prank in the history of all pranks. Like Sam and Tony are just waiting in the corners of his room with a hidden camera.

Bucky drops onto the bed, body a little too close to Steve’s, and holds up a piece of paper. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s legal.” He looks at the page again, a small smirk flitting across his face. “Steven Grant Rogers. Cute name. Should’ve taken my last name, though, would’ve seemed more official.”

Steve pushes himself up on one elbow and snatches the marriage certificate from the other man’s hand. It’s stamped and notarized and official, regardless on whether or not he took Bucky’s last name.

“Ugh, James Buchanan Barnes?” he groans. “What kind of name is that?”

Snatching the certificate back, Bucky buries his face in the soft pillow and says, “It’s a terrible name, I know. You can thank your new history professor mother-in-law for it. I’ve gone by Bucky since I was, like, four and there were five other ‘James’es in my preschool class.”

Rolling over to flop down on the bed, Steve watches the overhead light spin in circles around the ceiling. “I am too drunk to deal with this,” he mumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. There’s still an aftertaste of vomit and tequila in the back of his mouth that hadn’t gone away after he had brushed his teeth and Steve kind of wants to die. “Can you just smother me? Please?”

“I’m not going to murder my new husband,” the other man mumbles. “We haven’t even had our honeymoon.”

“I’m _not_ your husband.”

“Pretty sure this piece of paper says otherwise,” Bucky says, turning his head to look up at him, blue eyes glinting in the sunshine. It’s quiet for a minute before he nudges Steve’s shoulder with the tip of his nose. Steve rolls his head to look at the brunet as he asks, “So, what are we going to do about this?”

He sighs and throws his arm over his eyes to stop the world from spinning. “I’m too drunk for this,” he repeats. “I don’t know what the fuck is even going on.”

The bed shifts and he hears Bucky say, “Well, maybe we order room service? Or I go run out and get some food and coffee? I’ll come back and we can try and hash it out?” Steve lifts his arm to see the other man pulling on his jeans and t-shirt. “What do you want to drink?” he asks, swaying again slightly as he tugs on his boots.

“Black coffee. Largest cup they have,” Steve grumbles, closing his eyes again. “Unless it comes in a fishbowl.”

“The only good things that come in a fishbowl are mixed drinks like the one you and I sucked down last night,” the brunet says plainly, grabbing the keycard from the bedside table. He pauses at the door and Steve catches the look of concern on Bucky’s face. “Hey, I’m sorry this wasn’t how you were expecting to wake up. Didn’t mean to ruin your morning.”

He’s just about to open his mouth when the door opens and closes, Bucky disappearing before he gets a chance to say anything.

Steve throws up two more times before he comes back.

“Black coffee for you, actual human coffee for me,” the other man says, handing over a large cup and a paper bag as they sit back on the bed. “Got you a bagel too. Bread will help settle your stomach.”

The coffee is too hot and it burns the inside of his mouth, but Steve would rather suffer in silence than try and for a conversation right now. He feels like a dick, just watching Bucky pick uncomfortably at his croissant and drink his iced frappe-whatever, but he isn’t sure what to say. They got drunk, they got married, now what?

“So...” Bucky finally says, breaking the awkward silence. “Wanna tell me about yourself? Do you go by Steve or Steven?”

“It’s just Steve,” he mutters, both of his hands wrapped around the warmth of the paper cup. “Um... well, I’m 30, born and raised in Brooklyn, but just spent the last two years out in DC before moving back home.”

“You got any siblings?”

“Nah, it was just me and my ma,” Steve says quietly, picking a chunk off his bagel and nibbling on it. “My dad died before I was born. Then my ma died a couple months after I turned eighteen.” Bucky looks up at him quickly, eyes wide with sympathy, and Steve ducks his head a little, trying to avoid his gaze. “It’s fine. I’ve been on my own for a while. You get used to it pretty quick.”

“Can I ask how they died?” the brunet asks quietly, nudging Steve’s knee with his toes. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Dad got killed in a car accident. Semi ran a red light and hit him head on,” he mutters before taking a long sip of his coffee. “All I have are pictures of him. Stories my ma used to tell me. I look a lot like him.”

“And your mom?”

The painful quietness seeps into his chest and Steve can feel his breath catch. He wipes his eyes quickly and says, “Heart attack. She was only 46, too. I came home from my night classes and found her on the kitchen floor.”

He sniffs a little and picks at the edge of his cup lid as his cheeks turn red. He never liked talking about his ma because he always got the same reaction. Pity. And, after struggling to stay afloat while utterly alone in the world, pity was the last thing he needed or wanted. But when he feels the hand on his knee and looks up into the grey-blue eyes across the bed from him, there’s only concern. “You okay, Steve?” Bucky asks gently.

Nodding his head, Steve mutters, “Yeah, like I said, it’s fine. Sorry to be such a mood killer.”

The other man rolls his eyes, scoffing slightly. “You’re too cute to be a mood killer. I’m glad you told me about your mom. It’s what husbands are for, isn’t it?”

He can’t stop the snorting laugh that comes out of his nose and catches the wide grin that spreads across Bucky’s face. He’s a little caught off guard by the perfect, blindingly white rows of teeth hiding behind the curled corners of the brunet’s lips. The smile is genuine and it makes Steve’s heart flutter, maybe just a little.

Steve takes another bite of his bagel, washing it down with the last of his coffee. “So what about you?” he asks, meeting Bucky’s gaze fully. “So far all I know is that your mom is a history professor and that’s the reason you’re named after a dead, likely gay, president.”

Bucky’s grin fades into a smirk as he raises an eyebrow. “A history nerd, huh? God, my mother would _love_ you.” He leans back against the pillows, sipping carefully on his drink. “I’m 31, a good little Brooklyn Jew, but I got a bit more family than you do. I’m the youngest of four, three older sisters, so you can imagine how that went growing up. Rebecca, Jennifer, and Elizabeth—Rebby, Jenny, and Lizzy, respectively.”

“Rebby, Jenny, Lizzy, and Bucky, huh?”

Bucky shrugs a little. “Rebby used to have a speech impediment and couldn’t say anyone’s name for the life of her.”

“And your parents?”

“Mom’s a professor at NYU, Dad runs a construction business out in Queens. Used to spend my summers working for him,” he says, pulling one long arm up over his head to prop the pillow up.

“What do you do for work now?” Steve asks, trying to ignore the way the other man’s shirt rides up, showing a thin strip of tan stomach.

Bucky groans and hides his face in the pillow. “I’m not gonna tell you. You’ll laugh.”

“I swear to god I won’t laugh,” he says, laying down next to the older man. Bucky cracks an eye open skeptically as Steve puts a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. Won’t even smile. I promise.”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

Steve bites his lip, struggling to keep a straight face as he says, “That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”

Bucky’s head snaps up as he jabs a finger in Steve’s side, whining, “Hey, you said you wouldn’t laugh!” He digs in his pocket for his phone, swiping through a couple pictures before handing it over to Steve. “This is me and my class,” Bucky says, smiling a little as he points to the picture.

There’s at least two dozen five year olds piled around Bucky, all in matching t-shirts, with their teacher grinning alongside all the kids. It makes Steve’s heart skip a beat, an unusually warm feeling spreading through his stomach. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make a joke like he would have 10 seconds ago, just hands the phone back over with a small smile. “They’re really cute, Bucky. I’m actually kind of jealous.”

The brunet studies him carefully as he takes his phone back, shoving it in his jeans pocket. “Let me guess, you’re probably some personal trainer at a gym or something? Firefighter maybe?”

“Not even close,” Steve says, closing his eyes with a small grin.

“Cop? Model?” Bucky tries. “Abercrombie window candy?”

Steve shakes his head and looks over at the older man, asking, “Give up yet?” Bucky huffs and finally relents, scooping whipped cream out of his cup with the end of his straw. “I’m a librarian.”

Bucky sputters out a laugh, showering him in whipped cream. “A librarian?” he exclaims through his laughter-induced tears. “ _Seriously_?”

“What, you want to see my library card?” Steve asks, wiping his face with the comforter.

“Is that a euphemism? I thought all librarians were just little old ladies, maybe the occasional skinny hipster with glasses,” the older man says, wiping a bit of missed whipped cream off the bridge of his nose. Bucky’s fingers are far too warm and Steve doesn’t notice at all, he really doesn’t.

“If I had a nickel for every time someone said that...”

“It’s not my fault you look like a stereotype from a bad porn movie,” Bucky says with a smirk.

“You know, I should divorce you right now for making fun of me,” he says, shoving the other man’s shoulder.

Bucky’s smirk fades and a heavy silence falls between them. It was the first time either of them had outright said the word since they had woken up. Steve knows he wasn’t planning on starting his vacation with an accidental marriage and he can’t imagine Bucky had either. But saying it out loud made it seem more real, like less of a joke that could be brushed off. They were married, like it or not.

“So is that what you want?” Bucky asks quietly, sitting up in bed. “You want to get a divorce?”

“Isn’t that what you want?” he asks, looking up at the older man. “I mean, we kind of got hitched by accident. There’s no reason to stay married, is there?”

“I dunno,” Bucky says, offering Steve a soft smile. “I’m kind of having fun being married to you. And you could honestly do a lot worse; I’m pretty much the catch of a lifetime.” He reaches over and laces their fingers together carefully. Something in the back of Steve’s head screams about how well their hands fit together, but he buries it down as the brunet says, “We could give it a couple days? How long are you in town for?”

Steve isn’t sure if he tell Bucky, let alone agree to this insane plan, but finally relents, admitting, “I’m in town for the next week. I fly back next Sunday.”

“Great, I’m supposed to leave the next day,” the older man says with a grin. “We have a week to see if we really want to get a divorce. We can get to know each other and fall madly in love. Maybe if it works, we could start a new reality show.”

“You think we’re going to be the next Trista and Ryan?” he asks, running his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles.

Bucky cackles, pumping his fist in the air. “I fucking _knew_ you watched The Bachelorette!”

“I have my guilty pleasures just like any man,” Steve says, pulling him back down on the bed. “I like The Bachelorette and every single Disney movie ever. Especially ones that make me cry. Which is basically all of them.”

“God, I love a sensitive man. Which one made you cry the hardest? Lion King? Dumbo?”

“Fox and the Hound. I always lose it when she drops Todd off in the woods,” he says, ears beginning to turn pink. “It’s instant waterworks.”

There’s a quiet chuckle next to him and Steve looks over to see Bucky’s nose pressed against the curve of his shoulder, eyes closed. He stares at the curve of dark eyelashes draped across the other man’s tan cheeks. The curl of the corners of Bucky’s mouth seem so familiar, like Steve had seen it before, but he can’t quite place the memory.

It feels oddly natural, though, the two of them so close together.

* * *

 _1_ : _04pm_

It’s early in the afternoon when his phone buzzes on the bedside table, Sam’s face popping up on the screen. Bucky looks over and says, mouth full of pad Thai, “Someone named Sam ‘s callin’.”

Throwing himself across the bed, Steve grabs his phone, pressing it to his ear. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Holy shit, you’re _alive_!” Sam says, heavy music playing in the background, and he wonders if the rest of the bachelor party is still out at the clubs. “Guys! Rogers is still alive! I told you motherfuckers that he’s impossible to kill! I win the bet, suckers!”

He rolls his eyes as Bucky snickers quietly, Sam’s loud voice audible in the quiet room. “Hah hah, very funny Sam,” he grumbles, smacking the other man’s hand as Bucky tries to steal a piece of his shrimp. “Are you guys still out there?”

“Tony dropped, like, ten grand at this club and they’re opening their private rooftop pool for us. Get your ass down here!”

Steve looks at Bucky’s mildly confused face and says, “Ummm, I’m kind of busy right now?”

Sam groans, grumbling, “Man, quit being a wet blanket and bring along whatever boy toy you ended up going home with last night. The girls are coming over in an hour and Nat will kill me if you’re not here.”

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I refuse to drink ever again for the rest of my life,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the other man muffles his laughter in his pillow. He hangs up the phone as Sam starts yelling something about bringing more shots. Shoving another fried shrimp in his mouth, he points at Bucky, muttering, “You’re coming with me, asshole.”

Bucky grins at him, putting the lid on his pad Thai, and says, “Your friends sound fun. Maybe I should’ve accidentally married one of them instead.”

“You say that _now_...”

Even at 1pm, the amount of tourists on the sidewalks is overwhelming. The older man stays close to his side, their hands occasionally bumping together as they wind through the crowds. Steve thinks about lacing their fingers together but can’t bring himself to do it, for some stupid fucking reason. He wonders if Bucky thinks about it too, the way the brunet glances out of the corner of his eye at him.

The club is far fancier than anything Steve would have ever suggested, but he knows how Tony gets after he’s had a few drinks. The billionaire could have bought the entire city if he wanted to, but had settled with reminding everyone in Sam’s bachelor party just how rich he _was_.

“Jesus,” Bucky marvels as they get past the doorman into the posh club. “I clearly accidentally married the wrong man. Should’ve married whoever suggested this place. Swanky as fuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “Again, you say that _now_. Wait til you meet Tony.”

The rooftop pool has a list, because of course it has a list, and he’s just glad that his asshole friends were kind enough to put a +1 next to his name because Bucky already looks asuncomfortably out of place as he feels.

The late August heat is scorching on the roof, but the music is loud and the drinks are flowing freely. Steve has flashbacks from last night of the drinks and the women and the clubs before he ended up blacking out and disappearing from his group. Part of him wonders if his friends are going to recognize Bucky, wonders if they would remember them meeting.

“Rogers! Get over here!”

He waves at the group of men as Bucky nudges him, the older man murmuring, “Okay, I see what you mean.”

Sam is sitting in the hot tub with a beer in one hand and a whiskey in the other, plastic crown slightly askew. His dark skin shines in the afternoon sun as he takes his sunglasses off, bright smile beaming. Steve can’t help but laugh at the fact that Sam still has the ‘ _Hands_ _Off_ , _I’m_ _Getting_ _Married_ ’ sash that Natasha had made him draped across his chest, even in the pool. As much as his two friends joked with each other, they were loyal to the death for each other. 

Fuck. Getting Married.

“Gimme your ring,” Steve hisses in Bucky’s ear, taking off his own and shoving it in his pocket of his swim trunks. “I’ll give it back later, I just don’t want to have to explain this to them just yet.”

“What, ashamed to be married to me already?” he jokes dryly, and Steve stops for a second, looking at the other man. Bucky’s expression is hard to read, but he still catches the thinly veiled indignation as the brunet slips the silver ring off his finger and into Steve’s palm. “It’s fine, I get it,” Bucky mutters quietly, plastering on a tight smile as his thumb absentmindedly runs over the empty space on his ring finger.

Steve barely catches himself from doing the exact same thing.

“Where the hell did you end up, Steve?” Sam calls as they approach the hot tub. He finishes off his beer and hands it to one of the scantily clad waitresses. “We thought you had straight up _died_.”

“I made it back to the hotel, at least,” he says, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the edge of the tub. “No thanks to you assholes.”

“And it looks like with some company.” Sam holds out his hand as Bucky sits down next to Steve. “Sam Wilson, groom-to-be and Steve’s best friend.”

Bucky shakes his hand and pulls off his shoes, sticking his feet in the hot tub. “James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Bucky. Steve’s current one night stand and possible long term fling.

“I am _not_ calling a grown man ‘Bucky,’ even if he’s banging it out with my best man.”

“Sam, can you not?” Steve groans, burying his reddening cheeks in his hands as Bucky laughs.

“Are you two _not_ banging it out?” Sam asks, giving him a look. “Because I could spot that shit a mile away. Just like I called Pepper and Tony almost a year before they actually hooked up. I’ve got a sixth sense.”

“You should see Steve’s hotel room,” Bucky says with a devilish grin. “Wouldn’t even need to ask.”

Sam grins and reaches across the tub to high five the brunet. “I like this one,” he says, grinning up at Steve. “Way better than that dude you dated last year. Big dude with the shitty sense of humor. What was his name again? Brett? Byron?”

“Brock,” Steve reminds him with a shudder. He and Brock had dated for almost eight months until, after Brock’s illicit affair with a coworker, Steve had kicked the ex-marine to the curb.

“Anyone named Brock is instantly a douchebag,” Bucky muses, grabbing a drink of a passing tray. He takes a tentative sip and makes a face, but continues drinking anyway. “I thought you had better taste than that,” he says, grinning at Steve.

“If Brock sounds bad, you should meet Sharon,” a voice says behind them.

Steve rolls his eyes as dollar bills come raining down overhead. “You know, Tony, you don’t always need to make a grand entrance.”

The older man drops into the hot tub, handing a $50 to one of the waitresses. “Of course I do,” he says, taking the drink handed to him. “What good is having more money than I could ever spend if I don’t spend any of it?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he holds out his hand to Tony, stammering, “H-Holy shit, you’re Tony Stark. You’re amazing. Your foundation funded my school’s art and after school programs. I teach kindergarten at PS102 out in Brooklyn.”

Tony shakes his hand and looks at Steve with a smirk. “See, this is how I wish all your boyfriends greeted me.”

“Bucky’s not my boyfriend.”

“Technically, he’s right,” Bucky says with a wink, and all Steve wants to do is jump off the roof. The last thing he needs is one of his friends questioning the nature of their relationship.

Sam and Tony exchange a look before Sam says, “You know what, I’m not even going to ask as long as you have a couple drinks with us.”

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “You said ‘a couple drinks’ last night and it ended up being seven shots of tequila and who knows what else. I don’t need a repeat performance of blacking out and making terrible mistakes.”

He winces at his word choice before Bucky even has the chance to scoff.

“And see, it sounds to me like I’m the best mistake you’ve made in a while,” Bucky says, thinly veiling the contempt in his voice. Steve ducks his head as the older man stands up, walking quickly to the bar, jaw set tight in frustration.

God, this is just what happened with every relationship he had ever had. He said some stupid fucking thing that sent everything snowballing into disaster. He was the epitome of self sabotage when it came to his love life. Any time Steve felt anything for anyone, his big dumb mouth loved to ruin it. No wonder nobody ever stayed for long.

“You just gonna let him go like that?” Sam asks, taking his sunglasses off.

Steve sighs, shoulders slumping, and says, “What else am I going to do? Just because he’s from Brooklyn too doesn’t mean this can—”

“Hold up, he’s from Brooklyn?” Sam exclaims, exchanging glances with Tony. “So you wind up having a one night stand on vacation that you have crazy chemistry with and he’s fucking from _Brooklyn_? This is like fate, man. You gotta go fix this.”

“Usually I’m not one to side with Wilson, but I’ve got to agree,” Tony says after downing his drink. “Go apologize to your man.”

“Fine, fine,” Steve grumbles, standing up. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Bucky’s already got a margarita in one hand and a shot of tequila in the other by the time Steve approaches the bar. The older man doesn’t even acknowledge him, just tips the shot back into his mouth before muttering, “Maybe you were right, about getting a divorce. We could probably just get an annulment, considering both of us were drunk.”

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Bucky’s wrist. “You gave us a week. You’re stuck with me for a week.” The brunet’s eyes glance up at Steve as his thumb runs over the thin skin at his pulse. He sighs and says, “I’m not good at this. I say dumb shit more than I probably should because I think part of me believes that I don’t deserve someone like you.”

“A broke kindergarten teacher from Bushwick?” Bucky says, almost a little too sarcastically.

“You know what I mean,” Steve says. “Someone cute and funny and who isn’t afraid to cut the bullshit and put their real self forward.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out their wedding rings. Rolling them around in his fingers, he mutters, “I don’t care if my friends know I accidentally got married, especially to someone like you. Knowing Sam and Tony, they’d probably be proud of me.”

“You could have done a lot worse,” Bucky says with a careful smile. “Now give me my ring. I paid good money for it.”

Steve hands him the ring and laughs. “How do you know you paid for it?”

“Checked my credit card statement to make sure I could afford a plane ticket back home early if I needed to,” he says, taking the ring and slipping it on his finger. “I’m pretty good at running from a situation once I see it heading south.”

“That sounds like something people who get into bad situations a lot say,” Steve says, putting his own ring on.

“Let’s just say bad situations get into me,” Bucky says, eyes glued to the drink in his hand. He chews silently on the inside of his cheek before looking up at Steve, plastering on a smile. “No need to dwell on the past, though,” he says flippantly, sticking the straw into his mouth and curling his lips around it.

Steve catches the hitch in Bucky’s breathing and knows better than to ask.

Suddenly the bridal chorus blasts over the loudspeakers, Sam’s aggressive cheering echoing underneath it. Steve and Bucky turn around as the elevator door opens, the other group stepping out into the sun.

Natasha is wearing a cocktail dress in a shade of crimson that matches her hair, a sash draped around her body, the words ‘ _Best_ _Bridal_ _Bitch_ ’ scrawled in Sam’s messy handwriting. The tiara on her head glitters in the sun, shining like her bright smile. “Now it’s a fucking party,” she shouts before she grabs the hand of the dark haired woman beside her and takes a running jump into the pool.

“I’m guessing that’s the bride?” Bucky asks with a chuckle. “She’s pretty hot.”

“You tell that to Sam and he’ll either knock you out or agree with you, depending on how drunk he is,” Steve says. He tries to hide the twitch in the corner of his mouth as Bucky snakes his hand around his waist. The other man’s hand is heavy and hot as he curls his fingers around Steve’s hip and he definitely doesn’t think about Bucky putting his hands in other places.

Bucky seems to notice the quickened of pace in his breathing and leans over to whisper, “Is this okay?”

The hairs on the back of his neck rise to attention at the brunet’s warm breath on his neck and Steve digs his nails into his palms to keep his hands busy as he swallows the lump in his throat, muttering, “Yeah, it’s fine.”

His mouth goes dry when the corners of Bucky’s mouth curl slowly into a smirk.

They head over to the pool as Natasha is popping her head out of the water, red dress peeled off to reveal a black bikini underneath. She pushes her wet hair off her face and grins up at the two of them. “Well isn’t it my favorite librarian?” Steve is just about to open his mouth when Natasha gets a better look at Bucky and looks at Steve, thoroughly impressed. “Where the hell did you find _this_ one?”

“After seven shots of tequila, I don’t have a clue,” he says, a shiver running up his spine as Bucky’s fingers tighten around his hip. He holds a hand down for Nat and pulls her up out of the pool. “Nat, this is Bucky Barnes. Bucky, the one and only Natasha Romanoff.”

“Romanoff, huh? I assume you’re Russian?” Bucky asks, letting go of Steve to shake Natasha’s hand. “Вы будете красивой невестой.”

A wide smile spreads across Natasha’s face as her eyes light up. She lets go of Bucky’s hand and squeezes his cheeks together with her thumb and fingers, palm cupped under his chin. “So fucking cute,” she says, scrunching her nose. She turns to Steve and jerks a thumb at Bucky. “Marry this one. If you don’t, I swear to god, Rogers...”

Steve flushes a soft pink as Bucky chuckles low in his throat and Natasha definitely notices.

She narrows her eyes at the two of them and says, “You two are up to something. Steve, you have three seconds to tell me what’s going before I kick your ass for ruining my wedding week.” She puts her hands on her hips and counts, “One... Two...”

He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “If I tell you, you can’t tell a single soul. Not Clint, not even Sam.”

The redhead rolls her eyes and says, “Duh, when have I ever told one of your boring secrets?”

Steve looks at Bucky who just gives him a gentle smile. This was it. No more clandestine hiding and shame. “Last night, after I got drunk, I ended up meeting Bucky somewhere. I woke up back in the hotel room with a wedding ring on. He did too.” He twists the ring around his finger with his thumb. “We, uh, accidentally got married.”

Natasha is dead silent, staring at him with one eyebrow raised. She blinks and says, “Excuse me, _what_?”

“Don’t give me that look, Nat. You’re the one that told me to marry him a minute ago.”

She smacks him upside the head and says, “I meant after you actually got to know each other, not after you meet after a night of heavy drinking!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “You’re getting an annulment though, right?”

“We’re just going to deal with it after the wedding on Saturday, okay?” Steve says quietly, trying not to cause a scene.

He half expects Bucky to add in the part about possibly sticking it out at the end of the week, but the other man is completely silent, eyes sunk down to the ground, all memory of a smile wiped clean from his face.

“NATASHAAAAA!” a voice screams from across the pool, followed by a loud splash.

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “My ‘man of honor’ is calling.” She points a finger in Steve’s face and says, “But don’t think I’m done with you two.”

She dives back into the pool and swims off as Steve turns to Bucky. “Are you okay?”

“You want me around, right?” the brunet asks quietly, his gaze still pinned to the ground. “I can just go back to my hotel and call you tomorrow if you want me to.”

He freezes and tips Bucky’s chin up to look at him. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t mention the possibility of us staying together. Nat may seem chill to you, but she is _freaking_ _out_ about the wedding on Friday. She’s got enough on her plate without having that bomb dropped,” Steve says, leaning into kiss his temple. “If this works out, we’ll come clean, okay?”

Bucky nods and smiles unconvincingly. “Sure Steve, sounds like a plan. Can we at least stop by my hotel room so I can check out and grab my suitcase? I’ll definitely need clean clothes soon.”

Steve knows he doesn’t quite believe the forced smile on the other man’s face, but all he can do is nod and mutter, “Yeah, we can do that.”

Bucky was keeping something from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

 

* * *


	2. Sunday: Cotton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up from a nightmare and has to come to terms with his new reality. Sam gives his approval and Steve gets to meet his in-laws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Yiddish translations are done through a lot of googling. Phrases to be translated at the end!

* * *

 

_2:36am_

Steve wakes from his nightmare with a harsh sob.

Bucky stirs slightly next to him, spread 3/4ths of the way across the king bed, but doesn’t fully wake. He crawls out of the sheets and stumbles to the bathroom, biting the heel of his hand to muffle the broken noises coming out of his mouth.

It’s always the same nightmare: a gun in his hand, pressed against a hooded figure. In his nightmare, he catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror before he pulls the trigger and is always terrified of what he’s become. He always pulls the hood off the bleeding body and recognizes the body on the ground. Sometimes it’s Natasha, sometimes it’s Sam, more often than not it’s Peggy or his ma.

Tonight? Tonight it was Bucky.

A door slams in the hallway and Steve damn near jumps out of his skin. He sucks in a shallow breath and exhales another sob, burying his sweaty face in his hands as he sinks to the floor.

There’s a quiet knock on the door and a groggy, “Steve? You in there?”

“I’m f-fine!” he stammers, voice shaking through his tears. “Just leave m-me alone!” The door creaks open and Bucky stands in the doorway, clad only in his underwear, his tired face laced with worry.

“You’re crying on the bathroom floor,” he says, taking a couple steps toward Steve. Bucky sighs when he shoves himself back into the corner. “I’m pretty sure that’s called ‘not fine,’ but I’m not a librarian so what do I know?” Steve begrudgingly lets out a short laugh and allows the older man to sit across from him. “You know, I get nightmares too,” he says quietly, leaning over to place his hand on Steve’s knee.

“I only get one,” Steve chokes, his breath still coming far too fast. “It’s always the same fucking one.”

It’s quiet for a minute and another sob tumbles out, Bucky’s hand tightening on his knee.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

It’s quiet for another minute and Steve finally huffs, wiping his eyes. “I wasn’t completely honest with you yesterday morning. I wasn’t always a librarian,” he says, ducking out of the brunet’s watchful eyes. “I used to be in the Army. I was a Captain of a Special Opps unit. We...” His voice fails him, the guilt and shame rising up in his throat. “ _I_ did things that I’m not proud of.”

“Steve, that’s not you anymore. You’re a different person now,” Bucky mumbles quietly, his thumb rubbing over his skin.

“Sometimes I don’t think so. I chose to do everything. I chose to kill those men, those women, those—” He looks back up at the other man, tears still in his eyes. “Those people had families, had lives before I came in to somewhere nobody wanted me and destroyed everything I touched.” Bucky pulled his hand away and Steve felt his stomach bottom out. “I’m still the same person who did all that. The same person with blood on his hands.”

“I’m still sticking around,” the other man says softly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Even if I had a nightmare about shooting you in the fucking head?” Steve snaps and wonders if this is the end.

He gives the younger man a smile and rolls his eyes. “ _Especially_ if you have nightmares about shooting me in the head.” He motions to the two of them and says, “Because I found you on the bathroom floor crying after that nightmare. Shows me you care.” Bucky grabs his hand and pulls Steve up to his feet. “Come on, come back to bed with me.”

Steve goes, Bucky’s warm fingers wrapped around his, and can’t help but think about staying like this for the rest of their lives. Bucky’s short fingernails scratch through his hair absentmindedly as he presses his face into the crook of the older man’s neck, their bodies entwined together. He thinks about Sunday and leaving Vegas and Bucky coming with him and the two of them starting a life together. 

Steve falls into the restful sleep he’s had in years.

He wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of hot black coffee. Steve sits up, blinking back sleep and looks at the coffee cup on the bedside table. There’s a sloppy scrawl of ‘Steve’ with a heart scribbled next to it and he can’t help but smile.

It’s quiet and, for a second, he thinks that Bucky may have bolted until he sees the open suitcase and the note next to his coffee.

 _Hey sleeping beauty, starving so I’m gonna pick up breakfast._  
_Be back soon. Xoxo -B_

Steve barely has a chance to put the note down when the door lock clicks open. Bucky shuffles in, juggling a big box and a large cup of a frozen coffee. He can smell the warm pastries and just wants to bury his face in the box after the night he had. Bucky looks up from the food with a wide grin. “You’re finally awake.”

He crawls out of bed and stretches, his back and shoulder cracking as he yawns. “What time is it?” he asks groggily.

“Almost noon. I realize I wrote breakfast on that note when I should’ve put lunch,” Bucky says, putting the box and drinks down on the coffee table. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

“Fuck, it’s almost noon?” Steve asks as he grabs his cup off the bedside table. “I have to go with Sam to do tux fittings at 12:15.” He open the box and shoves half a croissant in his mouth, washing it down with the still slightly too hot coffee.

“You sure you should go?” the brunet asks as he grabs half of one of the paninis in the box. “You still look kind of shaky from your nightmare last night.”

“Sam says I need to go about my daily activities even if I have a nightmare,” Steve says as he sits down on the couch. “After I got discharged, the nightmares used to keep me in bed for days, weeks even. Then I met Sam. Went to one of his therapy sessions at the VA hospital in D.C. and we’ve been best friends ever since.”

“And I assume you hooked him up with Natasha?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I tried to hold them off as long as I could. I’ve been friends with Nat since kindergarten after Nick adopted her from Russia. Didn’t speak a word of English, but stepped in after I got in a fight. We’ve been inseparable,” Steve says, taking another nite of his croissant. “After I got discharged, she moved down to DC to be my roommate and watch out for me. Met Sam during trivia night and, I swear to god, it was love at first sight. They got engaged maybe three months after their first date.”

“They’re lucky,” Bucky says quietly, gaze focused on the rim of his coffee. “I always dreamed about having something like that. Meeting someone and it feeling like it’s fate when you fall in love with them, y’know?” He glances at Steve for a split second. “Kind of like how I feel when I look at you.”

Steve mouth feels dry as he asks, “What do you feel when you look at me?”

The older man meets his gaze and a flush spreads across his face. “Hope,” he whispers.

Something unexplainable comes over him, making his heart beat heavy in his chest. Steve sets his coffee on the table and says, voice low and throaty, “C’mere, Buck.” He wraps his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and pulls him into his lap. A low groan echoes between the two of them as the Bucky rolls his hips slightly as he shifts into a better position, the older man’s knees bracketing his hips.

Steve feels his body hum with electricity as Bucky runs his thumb over the hard line of his jaw. The brunet’s voice is painfully quiet as he murmurs, “Can I kiss you?”

He lets out the breath he wasn’t even sure was holding and nods his head.

Bucky fits their mouths together so carefully that Steve thinks he may pass out. A thought flits around his mind that Bucky tastes like sugar and cream, his mouth warm despite the iced coffee he’s been sucking down since he came back. Steve drops his wrist and digs his fingers into the other man’s hips, pulling Bucky closer to him.

They’re both half hard as they kiss languidly, breathing roughly out of sync as their hips rock together. Bucky moans into his mouth when Steve’s hands slip up his shirt, thumbs brushing over his peaked nipples. “Fuck...” he gasps. “Steve...”

Steve wants to tear him apart, unravel the seams of his body, but he’s cut short by the incessant buzzing of his phone. He peels his mouth from underneath Bucky’s jaw and sighs. “It’s Sam, probably wondering where I am.” Steve’s eyes roll back into his head when the brunet grinds down on him one last time. “I would stay if I could,” he promised, trailing his fingers down the other man’s ribs. “Trust me.”

Bucky pulls away, breathing hard. “You’ll come back after this right?” he asks, voice shaking slightly. “You’re not just gonna leave?”

It feels like Steve’s been dumped into an ice cold tub when the words hit his ears. He frames Bucky’s face with his hands and kisses him hard on the lips. His eyebrows furrow when he pulls away from the kiss, murmuring, “I’m not leaving you. I promise.”

The other man swallows thickly and nods, his eyes a little distant. It’s the same look he had seen on Bucky’s face when they were at the pool, when he said he could go back to his hotel without Steve. There was something there, but Steve knew this wasn’t the time or place. So he kisses Bucky again and murmurs, “I’ll be back soon, I _promise_.”

He nods again numbly and climbs off his lap. Bucky gives Steve a small smile as he dresses quickly and leaves, but it doesn’t quell the unease in his stomach.

He takes a couple deep breathes in the hallway to calm his shaking anxiety that has built itself up again after his nightmare. His chest hurt when he thought about what secret Bucky was hiding from him that would make him think Steve would just disappear on him.

And he didn’t understand it at all.

Bucky wasn’t his—he was a stranger that had fallen into his lap in a terrible way. Or a great way. Steve couldn’t really decide how this was going to play out, but he kept telling himself that Bucky would go his own way after he went home. This couldn’t last.

His phone buzzes in his pocket again and shakes him out of his thoughts.

Sam’s text says they left without him because he’s too ‘busy banging it out with Barnes’, and Steve wants to kill every single one of his friends for ditching him. He ends up calling a cab to the tux shop and storms in like an angry toddler.

“You fucking assholes,” he snaps, shutting the glass door. Tony and Scott are getting fitted, the tailors pinning around their legs.

“Not our fault you were too ‘busy’ to show up on time,” Sam laughs from the armchair across the shop, feet up on the table. “I texted you like, twenty times to make sure you were gonna be there.”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, dropping into the armchair next to Sam.

“You know, you look like shit today, Steve,” the older man says, nudging him with his elbow. “Barnes keep you up too late last night?”

Steve casts his eyes down to his lap and mumbles quietly, “I had another nightmare.”

Sam’s shit-eating grin immediately disappears as he sits up, feet coming down to the floor. He looks at him worriedly and says, “Are you okay? That’s got to have been your first one in, what, two months?”

“Four.”

“Who was it this time? Peggy again? Your mom?”

“It was Bucky,” Steve whispers, hoping Tony and Scott can’t hear him. “I dreamt I put three bullets in his head before I pulled that hood off. All I could feel was his blood seeping through my fingers as I tried to save him. It was more real than the last five I’ve had, and I still can’t shake it.” He catches his hands shaking and shoves them in between his thighs as Sam’s worried gaze eats through his shoulder.

“Steve...” Sam starts, but seems to stop at the words both of them know are coming. “You... you only have nightmares about people you really care about.”

“I _know_ that!” he grits through his clenched teeth. “I don’t know why it happened. I don’t even fucking _know_ Bucky. I only know that he’s got a bunch of sisters, and lives in Bushwick, and likes those stupid frozen drinks with the whipped cream.” He looks up at Sam who has one eyebrow raised, a small smirk on his face. He immediately feels his face heat up as he shakes his head. “Sam, it’s not like that. I don’t— I don’t feel that way about Bucky.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” his friend says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Groom and Best Man, you’re up,” the tailor says, helping Tony off the pedestal.

“That’s us,” he says, smacking Steve on the shoulder. “Come on, Captain Small Ass.”

“ _Really_?” Steve asks, pushing himself out of the chair. “We’re still doing that nickname? I thought you gave that up after our last therapy session.”

“I’m putting it on your gravestone when you finally kick the bucket,” Sam says as he hands him the other hanging suit. “Lord knows you’ll die before me because you keep all your damn emotions right in your poor fucking heart.” They head back to the changing rooms as Sam adds, “The only way I die first is if I piss Nat off and she chokes me to death in my sleep with her thighs. But what a way to go.”

Steve chuckles as he closes the door on the stall and starts changing. “Remind me to stay on Bucky’s good side then. I don’t want him to murder me in my sleep either.”

“Oh my god, so this _is_ endgame for you,” Sam snaps from the stall next to him. “You’re falling in love with him and you can see a future for you two. You’ve never talked about this with anyone you’ve dated. Not Peggy, not Sharon, not Brock. Everything about Barnes makes you nervous and scared and excited. Sometimes when you find what you like, you just gotta roll with it.”

He thinks over what his friend is telling him as he buttons his slacks. “Sam, we’re just strangers who met in Vegas while we were drunk. I don’t even know if—”

“What hotel is he staying at?”

“Well, he’s staying in my room until I have to fly back home...” Sam’s head pops up over the top of the divider between the two of them. For a second, Steve thinks the older man is going to bash his head into the wall for being a giant fucking idiot. “Sam, I swear to god, it’s not like that!”

“The fuck it _isn’t_!” he shouts, still dangling from the top of the divider. Sam reaches over and smacks his hand against the top of Steve’s head. “You better not fuck this up, Rogers!”

He smacks a hand back at Sam’s and says, “Okay, okay, I won’t!” The other man drops back down to his side of the stalls, grumbling something under his breath. “So,” Steve asks quietly, “does this mean Bucky has your approval?”

“If he can put up with your dumb ass for a week, he’ll even have Nat’s approval.”

Steve thinks about the fact that Natasha already knows his terrible secret, the fact that he desperately wishes he could tell Sam, and the fact that every time he looks at Bucky, all he wants to do is bring him home into his tiny apartment where they can spend eternity together. It’s just a dream, not a reality.

But it’s still a nice dream.

* * *

_4:55pm_

Bucky’s busy playing with his phone as Steve stares at him from across the couch. The TV has been playing a movie for the last hour but he absolutely hasn’t been watching. Nudging the brunet with his knee, Steve asks, “D’you wanna go get dinner tonight? Maybe have an actual date for us?”

It seems to jolt the other man out of his thoughts, causing Bucky to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Huh? What’s you say?”

“Do you want to go out for dinner? I figured ordering in gets kind of boring.”

He laughs a little and looks apologetic as he says, “I really want to, but me and my sisters have always gotten together on Sunday nights at seven after Rebby gets home from teaching Hebrew school. Before I went on vacation we would always go to our parents’ house but since I’ve been here, we’ve always FaceTimed.”

Steve knows how it sounds in his head but it sounds even worse coming out of his mouth. “You sure you have to do it tonight?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches he snaps, “Yes, I have to do it tonight. It’s important to me. I was cut off from my family for a long time, so we’ve been catching up for lost time.” His glare softens and a small smirk crawls across his lips. “Besides, it’s a good chance for you to meet your new sisters-in-law.”

At 5pm sharp, Bucky’s phone buzzes, a girl’s face popping up on the screen. It’s an old picture, probably from the 80’s judging on the giant mess of curly hair, braces, and lasers. Bucky clicks the green button on the screen and sits up with a wide grin as three dark haired women appear on his screen.

It’s shocking how much Bucky’s sisters look like him. They can’t be terribly far apart in age, Steve thinks there can’t be more than two years apart between each of the four of them. But they all share the same dark brown curls, the same steel blue eyes, and the same high cheekbones. They all scream, “ _Boychick_!” in unison as Bucky turns a light shade of pink. The women all laugh and Steve can feel a jealous pang in his chest and wonders if this is what it’s like to have a family.

“You guys wanna meet my brand spankin’ new husband?” Bucky asks before his sisters start immediately talking over him.

“Bucky, what the hell did you do?!” the oldest—Rebby, Steve remembers—shouts.

He looks across the bed at Steve and tries to hold off the small smile as he says, “C’mere, Steve. Come meet the girls.” Something in Steve’s head screams that he can’t be moving this quickly, meeting Bucky’s family two days after they accidentally got married. But something about his smile pulls Steve across the bed, tucking himself against the older man’s side. Bucky holds the phone between the two of them and says, “Girls, this is Steve. Steve, these are my sisters, Lizzy, Rebby, and Jenny.”

Finally getting a good look at the three women, Steve almost wants to laugh at how tall Rebby is compared to her younger sisters. She has maybe a good foot on them as she sits in the middle, and he thinks she must be as tall as Bucky. And she’s the one that narrows her eyes at him and Bucky as says, “Okay you two, spill it.”

Steve is just about to open his mouth and spit out a lie when Bucky leans back coolly and says, “We were both drunk on Friday night and Steve apparently left his friend’s bachelor party and met me. Woke up in his hotel room married to him.”

It’s completely silent as all three of their mouths drop open before they all erupt in a frenzy of panicked shouting. Steve doesn’t know the language but it sounds vaguely like German. Bucky rolls his eyes and starts rapidly speaking as well, gesturing with his free hand. Tones begin to get heated until Bucky grits his teeth and shouts, “ _Her_ _aoyf_!”

His sisters all immediately stop talking and Steve swallows down the rising shame in his throat.He was the reason of all of this. “I’m sorry,” he stammers as Bucky looks at him confusedly. “I didn’t mean to start a fight with you guys.”

Bucky lets out a small exhale, and Steve can see his breath catch in his chest as he shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Steve. It’s okay, just stay here.”

Steve knows the other man’s sisters are watching him with wary eyes as he nods.

Rebby’s dark brows furrow as she asks quietly, “Bucky... Are you o—”

“Rebs, I’m _fine_ ,”

“So what’re you gonna do, Buck?” Jenny asks, grabbing the phone from Rebby and centering herself on screen. “I’m pretty sure they have divorce lawyers on every corner in Vegas for these exact situations.”

“I mean, it’s been going pretty good so far,” he shrugs, not meeting his sisters’ gazes. Something comes over Steve as he reaches out and squeezes the other man’s thigh. “Steve’s a really nice guy, so we’re giving it a week to decide whether or not we’re going to stay married. If it doesn’t work, we’ll get an annulment, and if it does, then we both lucked out.”

Rebby looks at him nervously and murmurs quietly, “Buck... after what happened last time...” 

“This _isn’t_ _like_ last time!” Bucky shouts unexpectedly, voice strained as he shuts his eyes hard. Steve can feel him shaking under his hand it’s not hard to see on camera. Bucky’s sisters clearly know the secret he was keeping from Steve, and half of him just wanted to rip it out of everyone. “It’s good, you guys,” Bucky whispers shakily, his free hand curling around Steve’s fingers on his leg.

 “Yeah, because you’re such a _maven_ of healthy relationships,” he hears one of the sisters say, but he can’t see anything except Bucky’s face. The way the other man chews on his cheek, the way his eyebrows knit together, the tear that leaks out of the corner of his eye. It all burns itself into the plates of his skull, like Steve is going to have to remember this forever. 

And when Bucky looks at him, god, when he looks at him with his needy cornflower blue eyes, the rest of the world disappears around them.

The moment is gone when Bucky’s sisters all shout, “ _Hello_??” in unison, Bucky jolting out of his thoughts slightly and Steve not moving an inch. He just continues staring at Bucky like if he blinks, he’s going to miss everything. 

If he blinks, Bucky might be gone.

He doesn’t realize he had stopped breathing until he tries to inhale, but it feels like all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room.

It’s like something was stuck in the back of his throat, cutting off his air supply. Something that had a name but Steve was too scared to breathe it into existence. Something that, if he admitted was there, could fill the empty spaces he hadn’t even noticed were barren. Something that would make him whole again.

“He’s looking at you like he’s your _B’shert_ , Bucky,” one of the women says, and it echoes through Steve’s head like he’s underwater. He blinks dazedly as Bucky’s cheeks bloom with color.

He doesn’t even realize what’s going on until he watches the older man’s lips slowly curl around his teeth as he whispers, “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve swallows his tongue and nods, trying to bring himself down from the heavens. His heart is beating too hard and too fast in the back of his throat and he can’t will it to stop if he tried. Not when Bucky smiled at him gently, his eyes soft like a sweater Steve wanted to wrap around himself.

He looks at the women on the screen and mutters, “Sorry I wasn’t paying attention to you guys.” 

Their expressions are the same one he noticed on Bucky that first morning when he left to go get coffee. But Rebby is the first one to speak as she asks, “Okay, Steve, as your new sisters-in-law, we deserve to know a bit about you. So talk.”

“Umm...” he starts before coughing a little to clear his throat. “Umm... so I’m a Brooklyn native, and I’m just in town for a friend’s wedding. I’m 30 years old and I work as a librarian at the Macon branch in Bed-Stuy. I grew up with just my mom until she died when I was 18.” It feels comfortable, like he’s talking to people who he’s know his whole life, not his accidental husband’s sisters.

“Is your dad in the picture?”

“He died a couple months before I was born,” he says quietly, Bucky’s fingers twisting through his. “I didn’t get a chance to know him.”

The three women look at each other and Jenny finally gets a word in. “Bucky is our _mechayeh_ , and we want him to be happy. If you and my baby brother do stay married, what does that mean to you? If this works out, how are you going to prove to the world that this wasn’t a mistake?”

Steve looks at Bucky and Bucky is clearly waiting for an answer just as much as his sisters are. But the only thought going through is head is the one that accidentally spills out of his mouth. “I don’t think it was a mistake to begin with.” Every Barnes sibling sits up straighter at his words. “I mean, clearly I didn’t come here to marry Bucky while I was here,” he clarifies, “but I’m glad we met. I wish we would’ve run into each other before I blacked out, so we could’ve met and fell in love first. Done things the right way. But if this was the only way we would’ve met, then I’m glad it happened.”

He catches himself looking at Bucky again and feels his heart begin to race once more.

“Would you agree to a traditional Jewish ceremony?” Rebby asks. “Both Lizzy and I have had them, and I know my parents would want to continue it with Bucky.”

“My ma raised me Irish Catholic before she died, but I haven’t been to Mass since she passed,” Steve shrugs. “If it’s something that’s important to your family and Bucky, I wouldn’t even hesitate. I don’t have any family and I’m entering yours. Whatever is important to you guys will be important to me.” 

“Oh my god,” Jenny says, rolling her eyes as he looks at her brother. “Where did you find this one? Perfect Husband ‘R Us? Not fair you get to find a B’shert and I got stuck being set up with Jamie Wellerstein.”

Bucky grins and says, “I told you guys he was great. So Steve’s flying back on Sunday, so I might try and get my ticket bumped up. We’ll see how it’s going on Saturday.” He glances at Steve and chews on the inside of his lip slightly. “But it’s been good so far.”

“Just remember that we’re always here if you need us, Bucky. We can always bring you home if something goes wrong,” Rebby says, but she’s not looking at her brother. She’s looking straight at Steve like she doesn’t quite trust the words that came out of his mouth. Like if he hurts her brother, there will be hell to pay. “ _Mir_ _viln_ _tsu_ _zeyn_ _zikher_ , _afilu_ _aoyb_ _ir_ _zent_ _tsufridn_.”

Bucky doesn’t argue with whatever she says, just nods quickly, muttering, “ _Ikh_ _hab_ _dikh_ _lib_ , Rebs.” Jenny and Lizzy open their mouths in protest, making him add, “I love you too, guys. We gotta go get dinner, but I’ll text you guys in the morning.”

There’s a chorus of, “ _Libe_ _ir_!” before the screen goes dark, Bucky’s sisters disappearing back to Brooklyn.

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and says, “They’re...”

“A _lot_ ,” Bucky finishes. “I know. They’ve been like this since I started kindergarten. We’re all 16 months apart and I’m the baby, so they’ve always been protective of me. Especially over the past few months.”

He finally lets go of Steve’s hand and Steve feels his skin crawl from where Bucky’s fingers were.

Trying to occupy himself, he climbs off the bed and digs around the coffee machine before diving into the mini fridge. “So I know you’re Jewish, but are you just Jewish or, like, _Jewish_ Jewish?” he asks, grabbing two beers out and handing one to Bucky.

Bucky takes it and digs his keys from his pocket, using his bottle opener before handing it to Steve. “So, it’s complicated,” he says before taking a swig. “My dad’s Reform, but my mom grew up in Crown Heights and her family is all Hasidic, so they’re like the super Orthodox ones you’ve probably seen around. Big black hats and beards?” Steve nods. “Yeah, so my mom grew up in that life and met my dad at a Jewish deli. They secretly snuck letters to each other for almost a year and fell in love. My mom wanted out so she got my dad to dress up as a Hasidic Jew to convince her parents to let her marry him.”

Steve laughs and crawls onto the bed, saying, “That’s pretty cool. Your dad must be dedicated.” 

“Oh no,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “You have _no_ idea. So he does the whole fake beard and sideburns thing through the wedding and then right after the ceremony, during the _Sheva_ _Berachos_ , this whole big thing with wine and prayers, his fucking sideburn falls off and the jig is up. So my dad runs across the wedding hall, grabs my mom from all the scandalized women and they run for their lives. So, long story short, we’re not suuuper Jewish, but we’ve still got a lot of my mom’s old habits. Still keep kosher, no mixed fabrics, still speak mostly Yiddish at home.” 

“That was Yiddish?” he asks quietly, watching Bucky a little too closely. “No wonder I didn’t recognize it.” He pauses, thinking back to the conversation the older man had with his sisters. “What does ‘ _B’shert_ ’ mean? Your sisters kept calling me that and you got really uncomfortable. What does it mean?”

All the color drains out of Bucky’s face again, except for the deep flush in his cheeks. “I’m not telling you. Not yet, at least.”

“You know, I could always google it.”

“Please don’t,” he begs, looking down at his lap. “I don’t want you to find out for yourself. It’s something I need to tell you and I’ll tell you soon, I promise.” The color spreads to the tips of Bucky’s ears as he meets Steve’s eyes. “It’ll make sense later.”

“Are your sisters going to tell your mom about us?” Steve asks, heart pounding in his chest when it takes Bucky almost a minute to shake his head. “Bucky, this is serious. You were the one that said we couldn’t tell anyone about being married and now all of your sisters know that we got married.”

“No, Steve, that was _you_ ,” the other man snaps a little too harshly. “ _I_ would gladly parade you around to my family and friends because I think you’re the nicest, most decent fucking person I’ve met in almost a decade.” Bucky’s chest is heaving as he clenches his fists tightly in his lap. Steve doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until he reaches out and touches his shoulder with trembling fingers. The brunet relaxes under his touch and sighs. “I _meant_ what I said yesterday morning. My mom would love you. And my dad. My sisters already do.”

His mouth feels dry as he asks, “You really want this to work, don’t you?” They’ve known each other for two days and it feels like an eternity.

Bucky’s pupils are blown wide as he stares back at Steve, lips slightly parted. He nods imperceptibly and breathes, “I never want you to leave me. I never want to leave you. I can’t imagine anything else.”

He can’t even hear the clink of the beer bottle as he sets it on the bedside table. The back of Bucky’s neck is warm as Steve wraps one hand around it, climbing into the older man’s lap. His hand drops off the bed, Bucky’s beer bottle dropping to the floor with a splash and thud. They’ll clean it up later.

Steve captures his mouth in a rushed kiss, attempting to swallow protests that never existed. Bucky arches up underneath him, pulled up by Steve’s hands on his neck and jaw. He breathes hard through his nose as Steve kisses him, hands fisting as they hang from his shoulders.

“Steve... please...”

He shushes into Bucky’s mouth before delving his tongue in hungrily. “It can wait, it can wait.” Steve has thousands of things he wants from Bucky, wants to do to Bucky, but everything can’t wait. He’ll settle on kissing him til the sun comes up.

They have forever.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Her aoyf!” means “Stop it!”
> 
> “Mechayeh” means “Only sometimes used for a person, it means "that which gives life" (the root word is "chai"). A cold glass of lemonade on a muggy August day, or someone who has that effect.”
> 
> “Mir viln tsu zeyn zikher, afilu aoyb ir zent tsufridn.” means “We want you to be safe, even if you’re happy.”
> 
> “Ich hab dikh lib” means “I love you”
> 
> “Libe ir!” means “Love you!”
> 
> AND please don’t google what “B’shert” means. It’s going to be a REALLY good surprise when it’s explained later! Please don’t ruin for anyone else! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Monday: Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky get roped into running an errand with Natasha, who gives her seal of approval, and take an important first step in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long to update, I’m currently getting a divorce and it has been extremely soul sucking. I’m going to try and write as much as possible, but it might be a couple weeks between chapters.
> 
> Note: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts and alcohol abuse.

* * *

 

_10:22am_

They’re at the hotel pool with Clint and Laura when Natasha kicks him off the edge and into the water. Steve splutters up to see Bucky, Clint, and Laura laughing at him. Natasha stands behind Bucky, with her arms crossed. “Come on,” she says. “Dry off. You and Barnes are taking me to the cake shop.”

Hauling himself back on dry land, Steve shakes his hair out and asks, “Why can’t Sam or Tony or Clint take you?”

“We’ve got three kids, thank you very much,” Laura says from her deck chair. “I only trust Cooper so long with Lila and Nathaniel.” She takes off her sunglasses and closes her eyes to the sun. “Besides, we already planned a whole bridal shower.”

“And why can’t Sam take you?”

“He and Tony went back to the tux shop for some stupid reason. Wouldn’t tell me. Now, come on, you need to drive me,” she says. “They walked so we have the car.”

Steve rolls his eyes and grumbles, “I hate that you were stupid enough to get your license suspended indefinitely.” Bucky looks up at him with a confused expression. “Natasha’s a bail bondswoman and six years ago decided that a high speed chase was the best way to catch the suspect.”

“Hey!” Natasha interjects. “In my defense, I only ran four red lights and _barely_ nicked that trash can. Not too bad for going 90mph.”

“And that’s the story of how I met Nat,” Clint says with a wide grin. “She tackled me off a second floor fire escape and into a trash can. As she slapped handcuffs on me, I told her we had invented the new sport of extreme dumpster diving. Best friends ever since.”

“What the hell could _you_ possibly have done to get arrested and skip bail?” Bucky laughs, one eyebrow raised.

“Y’know that old bird sanctuary in Newark that got broken into six years ago?” Clint asks, making Bucky choke out a loud laugh. “Yep, that was me. Found that big old bag of dicks that ran the place was abusing the birds, so I rescued all three hundred of them. We still got—” He stops and looks at his wife— “How many birds do we still have?”

“Forty-two,” she says, putting her sunglasses back on. “Including the ducks.”

“Forty-two birds, five cats, four dogs, three kids, and us,” Clint says with a grin, closing his eyes and laying back. “This is our vacation too. Fuck taking Natasha anywhere.”

Nat rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “You dumb-dumbs have fun getting skin cancer. Rogers, Barnes, gets your asses in gear, it’s cake time.” She saunters away, the click of her heels echoing on the cement.

Steve pulls his shirt on, the thin fabric of his T-shirt sticking to his abs, and tries not to notice the hungry stare Bucky falls into. He slips his shoes on and looks up at Nat. “You have the keys? I’m not hot-wiring another car for you.” She tosses them to Steve as he mumbles, “Thank god.”

“Let me guess,” Bucky says, sliding his flip flops on, “old Army trick?”

“You would not believe how many times idiots drop the keys to the Humvee in the sand,” he says. “Learned how to hot-wire after the fourth time we got stuck walking 15 miles back to base camp.”

“Every time I think I have a handle on who you are, you keep surprising me,” the brunet says with a grin.

“Did you know he can knit, too?” Natasha says, much to Bucky’s delight. “Every Christmas he knits all of us sweaters. Maybe if you stick around long enough, Barnes, Steve might even make you one too.”

“My husband is a man of many talents,” he says as they step into the elevator, winking at Steve. Bucky turns back to the redhead. “Is there anything else I should know about him?”

Steve shakes his head as she turns to him with an evil grin. “Think I should tell about your magic phase in seventh grade or that time you got really into Griffins and Gargoyles and you walked around high school with a cape on for nearly 6 months.” Natasha digs in her purse and pulls out her phone, asking gleefully, “Wanna see some pictures?”

He snatches the phone out of her hand as she tries to hand it to Bucky. “Let’s just worry about your damn cake, okay?” Steve snaps, cheeks heating up, and not just from the sun.

Bucky throws an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close. “Don’t worry, I can show you all the pictures of my goth phase later tonight.” He relaxes into the embrace and feels his heart flutter when the older man runs his thumb over his jaw. Steve has to catch his breath, like he’s having one of his asthma attacks as a kid, and it takes him a minute to come back down from the clouds.

The woman at the cake shop is the tiniest, angriest Russian woman Steve has ever seen in his entire life. She’s maybe four and a half feet tall with a body the shape of a brick. She slams a sheet pan down on the counter when they walk in and shouts, “ _V_ _zaklyucheniye_!”

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “ _Da_ , _da_ , _byli_ _zdes_ '.”

The woman explodes into a string of Russian, Natasha answering her heatedly. The redhead points to two of the chairs at the table and says, “Sit. This may take a while.”

Walking over to the table, Bucky drops into one of the seats, pulling him down on top of his lap. Steve wobbles, feeling the other man’s arms tightening around his waist, and grabs the table to catch himself. It’s not enough though, and Steve can feel them going down before the chair even begins to tip.

“Fuck!” the older man shouts through a laugh.

Bucky’s arms tighten around him further as they fall, one coming up around his head. They land on the ground with a loud crash. Steve looks up at him, the older man’s face scrunched in pain, and asked, “Are you okay?”

He cracks an eye open and groans slightly. “You’re... _really_ heavy...” Bucky wheezes, eyebrows pinching together.

Steve climbs off him and mutters a quick, “Sorry,” as he helps Bucky off the floor. The old lady sticks her head out of the kitchen and screams something at them in Russian before she disappears again, pots and pans banging. “You speak Russian, what’d she say?” Steve asks, pulling the chair upright.

“She said if we break one of her chairs, she’s going to break our spines,” the brunet says, rubbing the back of his head. “Nice lady.”

“No wonder Nat picked her. She likes someone who’s going to butt heads with her.” They settle in their respective chairs and Steve doesn’t complain when Bucky props his feet up on his thighs. He runs his thumb absentmindedly over the other man’s bare ankle and asks, “How do you know Russian?”

“So my mom grew up in Crown Heights, but after she escaped and married my dad, they moved down to Brighton Beach to try and lay low. So I grew up with a Russian nanny and speak it pretty fluently,” Bucky says, glancing at his ankle. Steve watches his tan cheeks flush a pale pink. “I’m honestly surprised you don’t speak Russian, being friends with Natasha for so long.”

Steve shrugs a little and mutters, “I could never pick it up. I just spoke Gaelic with my ma at home. Didn’t speak a lick of English until I went to kindergarten.”

Bucky is quiet for almost a minute, staring at Steve’s hand on his leg, before he finally says, “You know, I always kind of felt like an outsider in Brighton. Everyone I knew that couldn’t speak English as a kid was always a first-gen immigrant. They had always moved from somewhere else. And I felt like an outsider in my own city. I would always get so mad that my mom would never take us to the Hasidic areas just so I could understand someone.” He lets out a small huff and says, “My sisters wouldn’t even speak English at home, even after they left for school.”

“Sometimes I think being a second-generation immigrant is almost harder than coming here,” Steve mumbles, almost to himself. “My ma was Irish through and through, but I never felt American enough or Irish enough to be either, or even both.”

There’s a moment where he thinks Bucky may just fall apart, but it’s broken when the old Russian woman slams a tray of cake slices on the table. She glares at the two of them as Natasha sits across. The brunet gives her his best smile but her scowl only grows. “Eat!” she barks before stomping away.

Natasha hands Steve a fork and says, “Better do as Baba says.”

“Is she actually your Grandma?” Bucky asks, grabbing a corner of the strawberry cake with his fingers.

“Nah, I just call her Baba because she reminds me of the old lady at the orphanage in Volgograd,” she says, stabbing her fork into the chocolate slice. “She basically dragged me out by my leg into my old man’s car when he came to adopt me.” Shoving the fork in her mouth, Natasha lets out a small groan. “Yum. Picked the right old Russian lady.”

They eat hungrily for a couple minutes until Nat leans back and crosses her arms over her chest. “So, Barnes, what’s your story? Figured I deserve to know a bit about you, since you’re married to my best friend.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Bucky just smiles softly at him. “It’s okay. I’m not shy.” He turns back to the redhead and says, “Well, I’m 31 years old, born and raised in Brighton Beach, but currently residing in Bushwick. I’ve taught kindergarten at PS102 for about five years now and absolutely love it. I have three older sisters, and my family is very Jewish.”

“Jewish like the beard and the things,” Natasha asks, twirling her fingers by her ears.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. “No, not that Jewish, but my mom grew up like that. Nobody in the community will talk to her or us though, because she left. I’ve never met my grandparents because they told my mom she was dead to them.”

She shrugs. “We’ve all got weird relatives. At least you’re not like Steve and stuck with me and Sam as your only family.”

“Well, I guess that makes you my family too now, doesn’t it?”

Steve expects Natasha to laugh, to make a snarky comment, or to make fun of Bucky, but she doesn’t. His heart pounds in his chest when she smiles warmly at the brunet, reaching across the table to smack Bucky’s shoulder gently. “I guess it does.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding and raises an eyebrow at Nat. “Who are you and what have you done with Natasha.” She sticks her tongue out at him and flicks some frosting across the table. “You’re such a brat,” Steve laughs.

“Don’t call me a brat four days before my wedding!” she says, mocking heartache. “You wound me.”

“Just tall Sam to kick him out of the wedding,” Bucky offers, trying to hold back a smirk.

Natasha’s eyes light up at the joke and she tips her head back to laugh hard. “Where the hell have you been all our lives?” she asks. “God, I’ve had to deal with shitty ex after shitty ex and now Steve lands the coolest husband on the planet. Where were you two years ago when I had to listen to Sharon go on for eighteen minutes about how the modern film industry wasn’t authentic enough and how classics by old dead white dudes where way better.”

“She sounds _wonderful_ ,” he says, chewing on his lip when Steve gives him a look.

“Oh,” she says, “you have no idea. Did anyone tell you about Brock?”

“Sam said he had a shitty sense of humor.”

Nat laughs again, harder and louder this time, and Steve buries his face in his hands. “Bad sense of humor my ass. I don’t think this man ever smiled. Even Clint couldn’t even get a smile out of him and that idiot can make anyone laugh.”

Bucky turns to Steve and asks, “Why did you even date this dude? He doesn’t even seem like your type.”

He sighs and lifts his head. “I’m only telling you because I know, if I don’t, Nat will. But it’s so embarrassing so be nice,” Steve says. “So Brock and worked at the VA that Sam worked at, and hit on me for like 4 months. So after he finally asked me out, I felt bad so I said yes and ended up dating for 8 months because I was too nice to break up with him.”

Bucky snorts and says, “You are so fucking cute. And so painfully nice that I think my teeth might fall out. Why’d you guys break up? Not that I’m complaining.”

Steve shrugs, picking at the raspberry chocolate cake absentmindedly. He huffs out a laugh and says, “Found out he was cheating on me with one of his coworkers. Front desk girl. She was cute, I guess.”

He expects Bucky to laugh again, but he doesn’t. The older man just looks at him intently and says, “I’m sorry that happened to you. You deserved better than that.”

Every word that he could ever say is caught in the back of his throat. Bucky is too good for him. Bucky will always be too good for him. He’s like a light that Steve finds himself chasing but never able to catch. Like a North Star guiding him back to the place he should’ve been all these years. To the person he should’ve been.

All he wants, all he’s ever wanted, was right in front of him.

“Okay you two, I do actually need help picking out my cake flavors,” Natasha says, pulling the two men out of the bubble that’s formed around them. Steve blinks at her dumbly and she gives him a concerned look, like she can read everything that’s bouncing around in his head. She knows Steve is falling in love and he knows that scares her more than anything, because she’s only seen it once before.

“Go with the passion fruit and mango for once layer and the salted caramel for another,” Bucky suggests, grabbing another forkful of the caramel cake. “That way everyone’s happy.” There’s a low buzzing and he pulls out his phone. “Shit, it’s Jenny,” he mutters, pushing his chair away from the table. “I gotta take this.”

The door jingles shut as Steve watches Bucky duck outside.

“Steve.”

He looks at Natasha blankly and asks, “What?”

“ _Look_ at you,” she says, motioning to his dumbstruck face. “You look like you did in senior year of high school when Peggy asked you to prom. You’re falling in love, aren’t you!”

“Nat, it’s not like that,” Steve says, echoing his words to Sam yesterday morning, with a little less conviction. “We got accidentally married and it’s been going fine.” His face feels warm as he ducks his head. “I... I still don’t know whether or not I actually want an annulment.”

The redhead sighs and says, “Steve, I know I’m not your mom, but I’m going to act like her for a second.” She coughs for a second before putting on her best brogue. “Steven, I know you may be mad about this boy, I want you to think on it a minute,” Natasha says, mimicking his ma perfectly. “I want you to be happy but I also want you to be safe. Don’t need you away with the fairies, do we?”

Steve laughs and says, “God, you really are good at that. If I ever need motherly advice, I know where to go.”

She reaches out and cups his cheek, just like his ma used to do, and for a second Steve forgets where he is. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Steve,” Nat says, still echoing his ma. “ _Promise_ me you’ll be safe.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and whispers, “I promise, Ma.”

* * *

 _7_ : _33pm_

Steve has literally just pressed the order button on the Thai place across the street when Bucky looks over. The older man’s eyes go wide as he scrambles across the bed and snatches the phone out of his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters under his breath, canceling the order before it goes through. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ordering dinner?!”

Throwing his hands up, Steve says, “It’s like 7:30 and I’m _starving_ , Buck! I haven’t eaten anything since the cakes!”

He watches the brunet’s ears turn pink as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought about what you said yesterday about is not having gone on an actual date, so I got us reservations at Carson Kitchen for 8 tonight.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat as he blinks at Bucky. “A date? Like, _now_?” He runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down, mumbling, “I’m not even... I need to go get ready.”

Bucky lets out a light laugh and, holy shit, did he always laugh like this? It’s small and a little too high pitched, his nose scrunching up at the bottom, and Steve can’t do anything but stare. Stare at the faded freckles that had been swallowed up by Bucky’s tan and the deep curls at the corner of the other man’s lips that begged to be covered with his own.

 _Fuck_.

After nearly 10 minutes of Bucky convincing him out of a jacket, Steve finally settles with his navy button up but pushes the sleeves up when he sees it’s still 75 degrees outside.

Bucky goes for a dark grey short sleeve, tucking the front into his dark jeans before cuffing the sleeves closer to his shoulders. He straightens the collar in the mirror and Steve feels something in the pit of his stomach clench as he watches the older man’s hands around the fabric of his shirt. Something twists like a serpent around a rod as Bucky glances back at him in the mirror and smiles. It burns, it consumes him, but it only fuels the flames that has been building since Steve saw him standing in the doorway of their room.

Their room? His room? _Their_ room? The lines were blurring in his head now.

Steve finally snaps out of his thoughts when Bucky kneels in front of him, pushing up to kiss him chastely. “You ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, running his thumb down the cleft in the brunet’s chin and curving around the sharp line of his jaw. The pad of his finger catches on a mole on the side of Bucky’s neck and Steve feels him suck in a quick breath underneath his hand. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“If we didn’t have reservations in 15 minutes, I would undress you right now,” Bucky whispers, voice barely audible. “God, I don’t want to go.”

He twists his fingers in the curled corner of Bucky’s dark hair and says, “We have time.”

Las Vegas is warm and muggy outside, but Steve still wraps an arm around the other man’s waist. He can hear the older man sigh contentedly as he leans into the embrace, and Steve can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

If must’ve been with Peggy. Back in their honeymoon stage when he thought she was the only person he could ever love. But then it faded and they drifted apart. Steve was happy for her now, really, he was, but he still felt a pang of jealousy when he got Christmas cards with her, Daniel, and their son, Michael.

He had dreams of a family with Peggy, but the person in those dreams was slowly getting replaced by Bucky.

And that scared the _hell_ out of him.

They call a cab and barely make it to the restaurant before they give their reservation away.

“I had a booth reservation for two under the name ‘Barnes’?” Bucky asks the hostess as she grabs menus for them. I apologize for almost being late.” She smiles a little awkwardly at them as they weave through the restaurant and he turns around to wince at Steve.

He bites his lip to muffle a laugh as he follows Bucky, their hands still woven together. Steve couldn’t imagine letting go, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.

That also scared the hell out of him.

The hostess sits them down in a booth by the kitchen and it smells absolutely incredible. Roasting vegetables and cooking meat and the warm sizzle of oil in a pan overwhelms him. It reminds him of his ma in the kitchen, cooking all of his favorite foods when he was sick. It takes him a second to blink back into the reality where Bucky is sitting across from him and not his ma. But when the older man smiles at him, it’s not the lonely, sinking feeling he usually gets when he remembers his ma is gone.

The hostess hands them both a menu and sets a small sheet on the table. “Food and drink menus for you both. Your server will be with you shortly.”

They open the menus and Steve starts perusing the list of food. Everything sounds good but he has no clue what Bucky could possibly want. “Umm... I was thinking of getting the Bacon Jam toast things and maybe the deviled eggs to start out with? And the Butter Burger looks pretty good.”

Bucky lets out a chuckle, the tips of his ears turning pink as he says, “I can’t have any of that, so maybe some different appetizers?”

“Why can’t you have the— oh duh, the Kosher thing, right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “they both have bacon and, even though beef is okay, you can’t mix dairy and meat together. Never had a cheeseburger before, if I started now, my mom would kill me.”

“What else isn’t Kosher?” Steve asks. “Just so I’m not a dick and offer you foods you can’t have.”

“I can have fish, but _no_  shellfish. No pork or rabbit, and then any meat cooked can’t be cooked with dairy or served with it. Wine and champagne also has to be Kosher, because it’s made with grapes, and has to be produced by observant Jews,” Bucky explains. “I usually try and stick with hard liquor to get around that. One time, when I was, like, 5 and playing soccer, one of my coaches tried to give me a grape juice box and my mom literally jumped off the stands to the field to smack it out of my hand.”

“It’s that serious?”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he nods. “Oh yeah. She almost lost her _tichel_ , her headscarf, when she was jumping down.”

Their server comes over to their table and sets two water glasses down, filling them and setting the bottle on the table. “Hey guys, my name’s Marissa and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you started with anything other than water?”

“Can we get the crispy chicken skins and the green bean tempura to start out with? And I’ll have the salmon for the entree.” Steve says, watching the brunet’s lips curl into a small smile. “And can I get the pear cider?”

“Sure!” she says before turning to Bucky. “And what can I get you?”

“I’ll have the chicken thighs. Does that have any dairy in it?”

Marissa nods and asks, “It has Parmesan and cream in it. Are you allergic to dairy? I can have the kitchen to leave it out.”

“I keep strict Kosher so I can’t have dairy in it. But it’s probably just easier to tell them I’m allergic, unless you have a Jewish chef.”

“Wait, we do have a Jewish chef!” she says excitedly, and Steve can see Bucky’s face light up in relief. “Ira’s Jewish, so I’ll just tell him what you said. Do you want anything to drink? We have a pretty extensive wine list.”

Bucky laughs and grins wide enough to make the outer corners of his eyes crinkle. “I doubt there’s a Kosher wine, so I’ll just stick with a whiskey sour.”

He winks at her and she blushes, laughing nervously as she takes their menus. “I’ll have your drinks and appetizers in just a second,” she says, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear before she walks away.

Bucky turns back to him with a smirk as Steve asks, “Do you ever turn the charm off?”

Wrong question to ask.

The brunet narrows his eyes into the hottest smolder he’s ever seen in his entire fucking life. Steve watches Bucky lick his lips, tongue barely darting out before he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, the corners curling up into a deadly smile.

Steve should really laugh it off or make a joke, but he can’t. He’s stuck staring into Bucky’s grey-blue eyes like his soul is being sucked out of his body. His breathing slows, his heartbeat slows, time slows as he reaches out and drags his thumb down the center of Steve’s bottom lip. 

He sucks in a shuddering breath and feels himself grow hard under table. His pants tighten and his face turns ten shades of crimson as he readjusts his pants, much to the older man’s delight.

“And here are your drinks and appetizers,” a voice says, making Steve jump half a foot off the bench. Marissa raises an eyebrow as she sets their plates now the table. “Ira’s going to make sure everything’s cooked correctly for you! And here are your drinks.” The cups clink as they meet the table and it’s grounding. “Enjoy!”

There’s a split second when the other man winks at Steve that he sees them twenty years in the future, just like this. Sitting in a booth just like this at fifty years old, staring at his husband like he was falling in love all over again.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers, but Bucky doesn’t seem to hear him as he digs in the green beans.

“Ugh, _mmm_ ,” the brunet moans, a little lewdly, and holds the other half of the green bean out to him. “Eat it, it’s fucking amazing.” Steve leans forward and let’s him place it in his mouth. Steve can feel goosebumps creeping up his arms at the almost intimate gesture, Bucky’s fingers brushing over his lips again as he pulls his hand back.

But he’s right, it is fucking good, and the chicken skins are fucking phenomenal, and Steve feels like he’s fucking glowing. Every time Bucky smiles at him, he flies an inch higher off his seat.

They’re halfway through their appetizers and drinks when Steve starts to feel a little tipsy and a little more brave. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Bucky swallows the other half of the chicken skin in his mouth and says, “Sure.”

“What was it like coming out?” he asks, looking across the table at the older man. “My mom died before I came out, and I had stopped going to church by the time I did. But from everything I you’ve said, you still have your faith, even _now_. It must’ve been hard.”

Bucky lets out a laugh that seems a little too strained to be genuine. “Umm,” he mumbles, beginning to fumble with his silverware. “It was... I guess it went about well as it could be? Rebby knew I was gay. Rebby _always_ knew, I think before I did. I was so scared of anyone finding out that I didn’t come out until I was sixteen. In the Torah, being gay is a _to’eivah_ — an abomination.” Steve watches him curl his fist around the tines of the fork. “I was so _proud_ of being Jewish, and I was afraid it was going to be taken away from me.”

“What did your parents say when you told them?”

“My dad understood. Remember, he’s Reform so they’re more accepting of gay Jews. But my mom didn’t speak to me for almost a year. She wouldn’t even touch me or look at me. It was like I didn’t even exist,” Bucky whispers. “I thought about just letting everything go a lot that year. Thought about killing myself.” It’s quiet for a moment as he wipes his eyes quickly.

He reaches across the table to peel Bucky’s fingers off the silverware. Steve laces their fingers together and murmurs, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The older man sniffs quietly and nods. “I stopped going to Shabbat and barely left the house except for school. I couldn’t eat, I drank a lot, even at school. It felt like my world was crumbling in on me. I ended up in the ER because I passed out in class. My mom finally came to see me, only to find out I had alcohol poisoning,” Bucky says, still not looking at him. “I don’t remember a lot of those few days I was in the hospital, but I remember my mom holding my hand and crying. I remember her praying over me to keep me on this earth long enough for her to apologize to me.”

Bucky wipes his eyes again and Steve can see the damp smears of salt on his cheeks. All he wants to do is brush them fully away.

“When I was healthy enough to go home, she brought me to the shul with her head held high. Nobody was going to tell her that her son couldn’t be there. She sat me down right in the front and stared our rabbi down the entire time. He started talking about homosexuality and how it was deserving of the death sentence by the _Sanhedrin_ under _halakha_.”

“And how’d your mom take that?”

Bucky laughs again, more real this time, and a small smile spreads. “She stood up and walked to the bimah and told Rabbi Ellner that he must step down for abandoning his congregation. When he said he had done no such thing, she said he had abandoned me, part of his congregation, for being who God had made me. She said, if God didn’t want me to be gay, I wouldn’t have been born the way I was. That I was perfect and God loved me regardless.” He meets Steve’s gaze finally and says, “He did actually step down four months later when his son, Samuel, came out too. He finally had the courage after how my mom stood up for me.”

Steve wants to be happy for Bucky, really, he does, but that pang of jealousy spreads through his stomach again. The one when he realizes Bucky has the family he always dreamed of. “I wish I had told my ma,” he mutters, almost to himself more than anyone else.

The older man immediately pulls himself out of his own story and asks, “Why didn’t you? Did you think she wouldn’t—”

“No, no, I knew she wouldn’t hate me for coming out as bi, but there was always something in the back of my head that told me, if she didn’t accept who I was, I would lose the only piece of family I had,” he says quietly. “I was a piece of shit kid to begin with, and I didn’t want to give her another reason to be disappointed in me.”

“Steve, I can’t imagine anyone being disappointed in you, let alone your mom,” the brunet says firmly, squeezing his hand tightly. “I know _I_ could never be.”

He feels a rush of ice run up his spine, a sharp contrast to the warmth that builds in the pit of his gut when Bucky runs his thumb over the top of his knuckles. Steve lets out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and murmurs, “I’ve been alone for so long that I’m not used to having a family. And now I have you, and now I have your family, and it’s hard to remember that I’m not just an orphan anymore.”

Bucky lets go of his hand and reaches across the table, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s tie. He pulls Steve across the table, capturing him in a hard kiss.

The restaurant spins as he closes his eyes, relaxing into the kiss. He knows how they must look to everyone else, but it’s the last thought on his mind. The first is how Bucky’s lips taste like sugar and lemons and everything Steve wants to keep in his mouth for eternity. The second is that Bucky’s grip tightens on his tie but somehow he doesn’t mind.

Steve would let him wrap his hands around his throat if it meant that Bucky was never more than a foot away from him.

“Everything okay here?”

They pull apart to see Marissa standing with their plates of food. Steve turns fifty shades of pink but Bucky just shoots him a smirk. “I’m sorry for my husband’s behavior, ma’am, he’s not usually like this,” the older man says cooly. The woman laughs as she puts the plates down, only making Steve turn another shade darker.

She heads back to the kitchen as he drops his head into his hands and grumbles, “You're the _worst_.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

He snaps his head up to find Bucky staring at him in panic. The older man’s grey eyes are wide, his breath coming quickly as he stammers, “I-I didn’t mean it like—I wasn’t t-trying to—”

“Hey, Bucky, it’s okay. I knew what you meant,” Steve says gently, nudging their toes together underneath the table. “You don’t need to worry about saying stuff like that around me, you know? I don’t mind.”

There’s a heavy pause as the other man pushes his pasta around with his fork. Bucky chews on the inside of his lip before finally asking, “Do you— do you think we’re moving too fast? I know we only have a week before you...” He trails off, looking back up at Steve. “I know we only have a week but I feel like we’re going at light speed. And I know a lot of that is my fault, but I don’t even know if you want kids, if you’ll go to Shabbat services with me, where you want to live, anything about what happens after!”

Steve shrugs and says, “Well, all of that is pretty easy. “I do want kids, but, after being an orphan so early, I definitely want to adopt. I’ll absolutely go to the synagogue with you, I’d even convert if it was really important to you.”

“You _would_?” Bucky asks quietly, his brows knitting together slightly. He looks at Steve like he came straight down from the heavens and right into his life.

“I might need some Hebrew lesson, but I wouldn’t even think twice about it. Just like the traditional Jewish ceremony. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips. “I know it may seem like we’re moving fast, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I kind of like this rollercoaster ride we’re on.”

“You know, I was so scared that you were going to be this terrible person and I was just going to be stuck with you,” Bucky says quietly, reaching out to thread their fingers together. “Now I’m scared a week isn’t going to be enough.”

It’s already gone by faster than either of them would’ve liked.

“Will you come with me to the wedding?” Steve blurts, thumb rubbing over the other man’s knuckle anxiously. “I want you to be my date.”

Bucky stares at him for almost a minute, scanning his face for something, before he finally hums, “Okay, I’ll go with you.” Steve wants to kiss him again but he can’t pull himself out of the focus Bucky has put him in. He almost does, until the brunet says, “We should... we should probably eat. Before it gets cold.”

Steve nods and lets go of his hand, picking up his silverware. He can’t stop thinking about what Bucky had said. “I’m scared a week isn’t going to be enough.”

He isn’t sure that’s true. 

 _Eternity_ would never be enough for him.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments! I could really use them right now!


	4. Tuesday: Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a much needed morning alone, Steve and Bucky find their attraction too strong to deny. Later, they manage to track down some missing memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I am so sorry this took so long. I’ve had so much going on (new apartment, new job, new car, ahhh) that it took forever to write this. After the next chapter, I will update more quickly because I have some written already. I am so sorry ughhhh.
> 
> Note: the rating has increased to explicit so hold onto your butts! (Also, I’ve titled the chapters with traditional anniversary gifts so when the days start repeating it won’t be so confusing.)

* * *

 

_9:52am_

Their fingertips dance together in the light streaming in from the windows, both of their bodies stripped to t-shirts and underwear. Steve traces Bucky’s fingerprints, golden from the sun, as the older man tucks himself into the crook of his neck.

They’ve come back from breakfast with Sam and Scott, and Steve can barely keep his eyes open.

So he settles for memorizing the ridges and swirls in the brunet’s fingers, running his thumb over the creases in his palm. He can feel Bucky smile against his skin and hears a contented sigh escape the brunet’s lips. All he wants to do is put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign up, turn off his phone, and stay like this for the rest of eternity, with Bucky’s hand in his. 

“Have you gotten to do any fun tourist stuff yet?” Bucky asks softly, his fingers curling around Steve’s. “Sorry I’ve been taking up most of your time.”

Steve wants to admonish his words, wants to remind him that he has gladly made space in his life for Bucky, but settles for pulling the older man’s knuckles against his lips. “I don’t mind spending time with you,” he whispers, “if that’s _so_ hard to believe.” Steve pulls Bucky closer against his side and kisses his temple. “Come sleep with me.”

He laughs against his skin and says, “What _is_ it with you and sleep?”

“In the summers, when I was a kid, we could never afford to run the AC, so me and my ma would stretch out on her bed in the living room, right next to the open window,” Steve murmurs, carding his fingers through the loose curls of Bucky’s dark hair. “She would hum songs Gran taught her when she was little. And I would fall asleep in the sun, listening to her voice.” Bucky tilts his head up to look at him. “I guess days like this remind me of that.”

It’s quiet for a minute before he asks, “Can you sing one to me?”

Steve wants to laugh, but all he can do is whisper self consciously, “I’m... I’m not a very good singer...”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Steve starts off soft at first, just like his ma used to. Just a quiet hummed tune as his hand pauses against the high rise of Bucky’s cheekbone, ghosting his thumb over skin. The words float through his head as the verse ends and the chorus begins. His lips curl around the words, just like his ma’s. “ _A leanbh mo chléibh go n-eirí do chodhladh_...” Steve sings quietly, remembering those hot Brooklyn afternoons. “ _Séan is sonas gach oíche do chóir... Tá mise me do thaobh ag guídhe ort na mbeannacht... Seothín a leanbh is codail go foill_...”

He hums another verse before Bucky asks tiredly, “What does it mean?”

“It’s an old Irish song, telling a child to go to sleep before the fairies lured them away,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed. “ _Child of my heart, sleep calmly. And well all night and be happy. I’m by your side praying for blessings on you. Hush-a-bye, baby and sleep for now_ ,” Steve hums, letting himself drift off into the heaviness of sleep, Bucky following close behind.

He wakes up an hour later, fingers still tangling through hair.

There’s something so peaceful about how the older man sleeps, lips parted as he snores quietly, so all Steve can do is watch. Watch Bucky’s chest rise and fall, watch the clouds shift the sunlight across his face, watch their lives twist together. 

After a few minutes, Bucky stirs awake, his grey eyes blinking open. He yawns and smiles before murmuring, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he says before Bucky pushes up to capture his lips in a kiss. 

His fingers tighten in the dark strands as Steve keeps his grip on his husband, his _husband_ , to pull his body on top of his own. Bucky’s thighs bracket his own and the way their bodies seem to perfectly fit together never seems to stop amazing him. Digging his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s briefs, Steve pulls his hips down against his and slips his tongue into the older man’s perfect mouth.

It seems frantic, the way they kiss like they’re running out of time. Are they running out of time? It’s a thought that has wormed its way into his head like a virus. Sometimes it’s all he thinks about: that he leaves on Sunday and they might have to go their separate ways, both of them still chasing the high of the other’s skin.

Bucky pulls away from the kids, tired eyes wild with hunger as he says, “I want you, Steve; I want you so much it fucking hurts. Am I going crazy?” He runs his hands down the front of Steve’s chest and says, “God, I look at you and you don’t even seem real. I look at you and I think I’m losing my mind.”

He crashes their mouths together, biting back when the brunet pulls at the hem of his shirt. “Prove it, then,” he begs into Bucky’s mouth. “Please, _fuck_ , just prove to me that we’re both real.”

“I’ll take that as enthusiastic consent,” Bucky hums, fumbling with Steve’s underwear. “Just lay back and enjoy the ride.”

His back arches as the older man attached his mouth to the thin skin above his hip bone. His underwear is yanked down in one swift motion, Bucky licking a long stripe up his half hard cock. “Fuck,” Steve gasps back arching off the bed. “Holy shit.”

He looks up as Steve, hair still mussed from sleep, and watches him intently as he closes his mouth around the tip. His chest and cheeks flush as Bucky all but studies him, pulling his guard down bit by bit. Steve tries to keep focus on the other man, tries to watch how his lips curl around his cock, but his head falls back when the older man swallows him down.

These past couple days have felt like an invisible hand has been gathering kindling in the space underneath his heart, and it has now been ignited. There is a roaring fire burning in the spaces between his ribs, the flames licking at his lungs. Steve wonders if anyone else can see the flame on his chest or if he has to watch himself turn to ashes with no one to offer damage repair. But the more he thinks about it, the less he minds the idea of standing in the embers of their love, Bucky’s soot covered hand in his.

“F-fuck... ah ahh...” he moans, eyes rolling back into his head. As he tightens the fists in the sheets, Steve feels one of Bucky’s hands curl around his wrist and pull his hand to the back of his dark hair. “Yeah—yeah okay,” he gasps.

He twirls his fingers in the curling hair at the back of the older man’s hair, strands slick with sweat. Steve pulls and arches and feels his thighs shake as Bucky bobs his head slow as sin. There’s a slight drag of teeth and it sets his skin alight. He tugs harder on Bucky’s hair and is gifted a moan from the brunet that seems to rattle every bone in his body.

And then he looks up at Steve, pupils blown to the edges of his blue eyes, spit slick lips stretched tight around the older man’s dick, and Steve can’t feel his body anymore. Not with Bucky looking up at him like that, leaning into the fist in his hair like it’s a lifeline. “Faster,” he begs through a moan. “God, please, faster.”

Bucky chuckles low in his throat and smirks through the mouthful. He pulls off to place gentle kisses to the head of Steve’s prick and says, “Honestly, I’m sad I don’t remember our first time together. I’m kind of salty about it, the more I think on it.”

Fireworks explode yellow and orange in the blackness of his eyes as Steve scrunches his lids closed tight, trying to hold off the inevitable. “We have... time...” he gasps between breathless moans as Bucky sinks back down, the head of his cock hitting the back of the older man’s throat as he swallows around it.

Sparks fly down his body like fireworks as Bucky drags the nails of his free hand up underneath his shirt. His fingers find a nipple, pinching the hard bud of skin and it’s suddenly all too much. Steve’s chest feels wide, lungs far too big as he struggles to find the breath that Bucky has stolen from him. His hips hitch as he makes a wrecked noise, pitched high and whiny at the roof of his mouth as he can’t hold back any longer. 

His entire body trembles when he comes, back arching and hips bucking. He gasps something that may be Bucky’s name, but he can’t hear it over the pounding blood in his head. It feels like he’s swallowed dynamite with the way Steve can’t seem to put himself back together.

“Not bad?” Bucky asks, pulling away with a thick swallow.

“Fuck...” Steve breathes. “I can’t believe we’re fucking _married_. You’re my _husband_.”

He chuckles and rests his head on the blond’s thigh. “Told you it still feel doesn’t feel real. Feels like I’m staring at the future when you catch me watching you.” He tilts his head to look up at Steve, his red lips curling into a smile. “Y’know, you should probably go get ready.”

Steve blinks out of the haze and hums, “What?”

“I meant what I asked you earlier,” Bucky grins, biting the inside of his thigh gently. “I really do wanna know if you’ve gotten to see any of the touristy shit they have here.”

He sucks in a breath to try and steady himself, and shakes his head. “Too busy,” he says.

“Go take a shower then,” the brunet says, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and Steve has to think of every unsexy thing on the planet to keep from getting hard again. “Even though I’ve been here for almost three months, I’ve only walked down the strip. Never gone through any of the hotels or nothing.”

The words sink in and Steve pushes himself up on his elbows. “You’ve been here for _three_ _months_?” 

This time there are no smiles, no jokes to mask the situation, so Bucky stares just past his head as he says, “I needed a break from Brooklyn. Vegas was somewhere I could get lost in the crowds. Nobody questions dumping a bunch of cash at the hotel front desk. It was easy.”

It’s not an answer but, then again, Steve didn’t really ask a question. 

He ends up showering with the bathroom door cracked, part of him hoping for something that never comes. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, Bucky is fully dressed again, cheeky grin plastered back on his face. “You ready to go babe?” he says when Steve stretches out a hand. He slips his phone out of his pocket and onto the bed, turning it facedown before he hops up to lace their fingers together. 

They take pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower and Bucky kisses him at the fountains in front of the Bellagio. Steve takes the initiative to kiss him back in front of the pitiful Statue of Liberty before they take a gondola ride at The Venetian. They giggle like teenagers and hold hands and duck into alcoves to kiss until someone stares. Steve knows his cheeks and the tips of his ears have turned permanently pink, but the slow, wide smiles that Bucky gives him are enough compensation.

“Do you want to go to the aquarium?”

“Only if we skip the octopus tank,” he says, eliciting a full body laugh from Bucky. “When I was a kid, I had reoccurring nightmares that a giant squid was going to eat me and now have an irrational fear of anything with tentacles.” 

Bucky laughs even harder and wipes the gleeful tears from his eyes. “Oh my god, does this mean you don’t want to watch my tentacle porn collection with me?”

Steve snorts out an unexpected laugh and shudders. “God, ugh, no thank you.”

“Oh come on,” he says, tickling his fingers up the blond’s sides playfully as he ducks in front of him, “it’ll be fun. You, me, some tentacles, some lube? What could possibly be unappealing about that scenario?” 

“ _Stoooop_ ,” Steve whines, smacking his hands away. “I’m never going to let you near me again if you bring up tentacle porn one more time.”

Skipping backwards, Bucky sticks his tongue out at him as the light changes. He had missed out on a childhood sweetheart, since he and Peggy didn’t start dating til the end of their senior year, and he wonders if this is what it felt like. The innocence and just pure unadulterated joy that seem to fill the air around them like lightning. So Steve laughs and chases after him to the edge of the street as the crossing light turns red.

It’s like the world slows down as he watches a car race toward the intersection, toward Bucky as he skips back into the crosswalk. Stumbling forward, Steve reaches out and shouts, “Look out!”

He manages to grab onto the front hem of the other man’s shirt with his fingers and pulls him back on the sidewalk. The car whizzes by, horn screaming at them as it barely misses Bucky’s body.

They both fall to the sidewalk, Steve’s heart pounding in his chest. He takes a minute to catch his breath before he turns to ask, “You okay, Bucky?”

The answer is clearly no.

Bucky’s eyes are wide as dinner plates as he stares at the road, cars sipping past. His right hand is clenched tight around his left forearm, fingers digging in hard enough to turn the surrounding skin white. His entire body is trembling as he struggles to come back to reality. Steve touches his shoulder gently and Bucky lets out a frightened yelp, turning to him in panic. “Hey,” Steve asks worriedly, “are you okay?”

“I’m f-fine,” he stammers, running a shaking right hand through his hair as he drops the left. “F-Fine— It’s n-nothing...”

“I’ve had enough panic attacks to know one when I see one,” Steve says gently, climbing to his feet and pulling Bucky up with him. He spreads his fingers across the older man’s still racing heart. “Breathe... just breathe...”

He jumps a little when Bucky suddenly grabs him, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s shoulder. His fingers twist in the back of his shirt like it’s the only thing grounding him. Bucky’s still shaking so he wraps his own arms around the older man’s head, completely enveloping him in refuge. Someone bumps into them as the crowd flows around them like the sea and Steve finds himself pulling Bucky in tighter to keep him safe.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

Bucky’s breath slowly steadies and he finally takes a stable breath. “Thank you,” he murmurs quietly. “Thank you, Steve.”

They cling to each other for another brief, perfect moment before they pull away, both fidgeting with their hands like they know nothing but how to hold one another. Steve chews on the inside of his lip for a second, watching Bucky’s fingers run over the inside of his arm, before he finally blurts out, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” the older man says, rolling his shoulders. “It’s just—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he says, swallowing thickly as Bucky looks at him with such reverence that Steve feels like his skin has been pulled off and his soul is open to the world. “I know what it’s like.”

Bucky nods quickly, like he’s shaking thoughts out of his head and reaches for Steve’s hand. “We can... we can still go to the aquarium, we don’t have to—”

“What do _you_ want to do?” Steve asks, more of a demand than a desire, and Bucky looks a little stunned, like nobody has asked him that question in a long time. Like nobody has cared what he’s wanted.

“I want to go back to the hotel,” he says with some finality, a small smile carefully pulling at his lips as their fingers fit together. Steve pulls their hands up until his arm is draped over Bucky’s shoulder and turns them back toward Mandalay Bay. As they swim through the crowd, he can almost hear the brunet repeat a barely audible, “Thank you.”

So he pulls Bucky closer to him, pressing a kiss to his temple and squeezing his hand. 

And everything becomes easy again. 

* * *

_5:44pm_

“Are you sure you don’t want to go do anything?” Steve lolls his head over on his pillow to stare into Bucky’s grey eyes. “Didn’t Tony call you about buying out a sushi bar or something?”

“Honestly, after this morning, I’d rather just stay in,” he says, pulling his hand out from under the pillow and twists the curling ends of the other man’s hair. He’s always amused at the fact that Bucky’s hair dries straight if he brushes through it a couple times, but once they spend enough time tucked into pillows or out in the humidity, it begins to tighten into curls. It always smells of peaches and spice and Steve can’t imagine trying to keep his hands out of it. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Bucky leans into his touch and makes a soft, satisfied noise that makes Steve’s stomach flip. “Whatever you want, babe,” he hums, closing his eyes. “I just hope your friends don’t mind.”

“They’re used to me being a homebody,” Steve says. “Remember, I’m the guy that knits Christmas sweaters. The night we got married was the first night in almost a decade that I let myself get a little too wild.”

“I wish we had photographs from Friday night,” the older man snorts. “Would’ve loved to see us both just wasted.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been—” He stops, staring at the ceiling for a minute before he mumbles, “Wait a minute.” Grabbing his phone off the night stand, Steve pulls up his credit card statements. “You said you bought our wedding rings, I wonder if I paid for the ceremony.” He scrolls through the statement. “Fuck,” he says, “there’s only the charges from the bar I went to with Sam and some place called ‘ _Rí Rá Pub’_ that’s the most concerningly named Irish bar in the world.”

Bucky grabs his own phone and asks, “What does it mean?”

“ _Chaos_ ,” Steve says, grinning when the other man laughs loudly. “It’s kind of a general term for rowdiness and disorder, but naming a bar that is terrible.”

“Seems kind of fitting that our night ended up there,” he says. “Let me see if I can find something.” Bucky fiddles with his phone for a couple minute before an evil smirk washes over his face. “Found ‘em. Going to email and see if they have anything,” he says, turning over to block Steve from his phone screen. 

“You’re seriously not going to tell me where we got married?”

“You’ll find out when they get back to me,” Bucky says, leaning over to kiss him wetly on the cheek.

Steve doesn’t try and pretend his heart doesn’t skip a beat.

Two hours later, a low buzzing erupts somewhere in the sheets, and Steve barely notices it underneath the Mission Impossible movie on the TV. He lifts his head from Bucky’s chest and asks, “Isn’t that your phone?”

He flops back on the bed as the brunet suddenly sits up, scrambling for his phone. Bucky grabs it from inside the pile of blankets and holds it up to his ear. “Hello?” he asks, leaning back against the headboard. There’s a inaudible, crackling voice on the phone before he says, “Yes, this is James Barnes,” and turns the speaker on.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes, this is Austin Clark at the Little White Chapel, how are you today?”

He snickers and mouths to Steve, “It’s the place we got married at.” He clears his voice and speaks at normal volume as he says, “Hey, thanks, we’re doing pretty good. Thanks for returning my call. We were hoping to see if there were any wedding photos or videos that might have been taken when we were there?”

“I can definitely go check,” the man says, voice tinny through the speaker. “Is there a good email I should send them to if they exist?” 

“Just use jbbbarnes@gmail.com, the email I contacted you guys with. We’re both really looking forward to getting them! Thank you so much for calling!” The line beeps quietly, and he grins at Steve. “Guess it’s just a waiting game.”

Half an hour later, a ping echoes from the nightstand as they’re watching reruns of The Bachelorette Season 5. Bucky grabs his phone and opens the email. “Holy shit, these pictures are fucking _amazing_ ,” he says, stifling a laugh. “Go grab my laptop from my backpack, you’re going to want to see these.”

It takes a couple minutes for Bucky to get through the old pop up messages before he can open his email, but, once he does, they are fucking _glorious_.

They’re clearly hammered, or, at least he can see that because Steve knows they were both drunk out of their minds, but to the unknowing eye, they’re just giddy with love. But he can see the way Bucky’s smile tilts in the picture, the way they both hold onto each other as they kiss to keep steady. But god, do they ever look in love. 

“We look ridiculous,” he says, almost a little too fondly, before scrolling through the pictures. He stops at one and looks at Bucky incredulously. “Where the fuck did you get a yarmulke?!” Steve laughs, gesturing to the picture of Bucky standing proudly in front of one of the flower centerpieces. “Were you just planning on marrying the first drunk dude you came across?”

Bucky holds his chest and gasps, “How _dare_ you.” He pulls the small velvet cap out of his pocket and tosses it at him. “I am a good Jewish boy, I never leave home without it. And it’s a _kippah_ , by the way.”

Steve catches it and tries not to fall further in love.

“Oh my god, _Steve_ , there’s a video,” he says excitedly, clicking twice on the thumbnail.

_Bucky’s face is so close to the camera that the only thing visible are his bright blue eyes. “Helloooo,” he says, words slurring around the edges. “Is it working? Are you filming?”_

_The camera man backs up and says, “It’s filming, Mr. Barnes. Are you and Mr. Rogers ready to start the ceremony?” There’s a laugh in the background and the camera pans to Steve, pinning the boutonnière on his shirt. “Do you need a couple more minutes?”_

_“No, no, I’m good, I’m ready!” Steve says, looking up with a flushed smile. He steps over to kiss Bucky a little too sloppily. He presses their foreheads together as he whispers, “I can’t wait to marry you. I’ve never been more excited for anything in my entire life.” Steve kisses the older man again and it’s harder this time, more insistent, like, if he doesn’t, Bucky might up and disappear. “I love you.”_

And there it is, the center of all of their desire; the drip of the hourglass on their love. They knew it before they were sober enough to accept their reality.

They had an expiration date.

Steve numbly watches the short ceremony go by, unsure why watching this makes his eyes burn, the lump in his throat choking him when they kiss onscreen. It’s doesn’t even hit him until he realizes Bucky pulling his hand out of the tight grip. The brunet looks at him worriedly as he says quietly, “You almost broke my hand there. What’s wrong?”

“I wish I _remembered_ this,” Steve chokes, pausing the screen as the random people in the chapel cheer their union. “I wish I remembered meeting you and wanting to marry you.” He looks at Bucky earnestly, the regret burning his face as he says, “I told you I loved you with more certainty than I’ve said anything in my entire life. I looked at you the way I’ve never looked at anyone else.”

“That’s because you’re my _B’shert_ ,” Bucky says quietly.

“You still haven’t told me what it means,” he laments, lacing their fingers together again. Steve watches the older man run his thumb across his and wonders if it will always be like this. Soft and warm and easy. “Will you ever tell me?”

“I promised you I would,” he says, bringing their hands up to kiss Steve’s knuckles. “I could never break a promise I make to you. I need you to remember that.”

“I won’t forget.”

Bucky half-smiles at him and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, and god does it feel like this is how it’s supposed to be. They’ve known each other for four days and with every passing minute, the ache in his chest only grows. But it’s not the right time, so he buries it down and presses play on the laptop.

_“I’ll give ya a hundred bucks if you come to the pub with us,” Steve offers the camera man. “All my friends are at a bachelor party and can’t come. Gotta document it for our kids, ya know? I want them to see us all happy and shit.”_

_“We’re gonna have kids?” Bucky laughs, bumping into him._

_“We’re going to adopt so many fucking kids, you’re going to lose count.” He slings an arm over the brunet’s shoulders, kissing him on the cheek before slurring, “I’m so lucky to be able to spend the rest of my life with you.” Turning back to the camera, Steve digs into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “Seriously, I have at least two hundred bucks in here which is what we payed for the wedding. It’s almost 9 and you’re closing up. Come film the reception and we’ll even throw in free drinks at the bar.”_

_There’s a groan behind the camera as the man says, “Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Let me get my gear and I’ll meet you two outside.”_

_The video cuts to the two of them outside an Irish pub, Steve pointing up at the sign. “See!” he exclaims giddily. “This is the one I found on google! They’ve got a band, too, so I can show you how to dance. My ma taught me and I get to teach you.”_

_“You know I know how to dance, right?” Bucky snarks with a grin._

_“Not like this. Gonna have to teach you. Promise.”_

_The music is loud as they enter the bar, Bucky shouting, “We just got married!! Free drinks for everybody!” The patrons erupt in a cheer as Steve hands over his credit card to the bartender. “Just put everything on my husband’s tab,” he says before kissing Steve hard on the mouth. “Now show me how to dance.”_

_Steve hurries over to the band and whispers something in the drummer’s ear. They speak in hushed tones, inaudible over the music, and as the first song dies, a lively tune picks up. He hurries away from the stage and grabs Bucky’s hand._

_Hè mo leannan, hò mo leannan_  
‘S e mo leannan am fear ùr  
Hè mo leannan, hò mo leannan 

_‘S e mo leannan Gille Calum—  
saor an daraich làidir thù_

_His feet step and hop and twist as they stand next to each other, hands clasped up by their shoulders. Bucky trips over his feet, trying to watch the steps as he winces at another stumble. A couple other people have joined in on the dancing, watching Steve’s perfect steps. “Jesus, I really should’ve thought a minute before marrying an Irish boy,” he says as Steve turns them around. “Didn’t even think about having to learn all this.”_

_“I just wish my ma was here,” Steve says over the music. “This is the song that played at her and my dad’s wedding. She would’ve loved to see this.”_

_Hè mo leannan, hò mo leannan_  
‘S e mo leannan am fear ùr  
Hè mo leannan, hò mo leannan

_The older man slows to a stop on the dance floor as the other couples move in a blur around them. The smile fades from his flushed face as he asks quietly, “Do you think your ma would have liked me?”_

_Steve grabs his face and shakes him slightly, as if trying to get the thought out of his head. “It wouldn’t even be a question. She’d see how I look at you and know we were meant to be together. She’d know we’re soulmates just like I know.” His face softens into a smile as he says,“Sometimes I like to think that she’s watching out for me, that she’s smiling down on us right now.”_

_“Us Jews don’t believe in heaven, but I sure hope you’re right about that.”_

The video pauses and Steve can’t stop staring at the way they look at each other, like they’re the only ones in the bar and the universe exists just to light their way.

“Do you really think your mom would’ve liked me?”

He stares at the way his thumbs frame the sharp angle of Bucky’s jaw, the way the pads of his fingers press in the older man’s skin to ground them both. Was it always like this? Will it always be like this? Has he just been dreaming? Are they even real?

“Steve?” 

“Huh?”

He looks at Bucky suddenly with wide eyes. “Do you really think your mom would’ve liked me?” Bucky asks, voice apprehensive as he picks at his nails anxiously. “I know I’m not the easiest person to love, but I hope she would’ve.”

Steve shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he says, “I don’t know where you get the idea that you’re hard to love, because I’m having a pretty easy time.” Bucky doesn’t look at him, but he can see the other man chew on the inside of his cheek. “I meant what I said on the video. She would’ve loved you more than I can even imagine. Would’ve took one look at you and never would’ve let me leave you.”

The hotel room is completely silent as Bucky sighs quietly. “I just—” he starts before swallowing thickly. “Can you tell me what your mom was like? Since I’ll never get to meet her?”

Steve catches the deflection, but he trusts that Bucky will tell him when the time is right. So he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the scans of his favorite pictures. He stops at the one of his ma in an enormously white dress being carried by his father, dressed to the nines in a grey suit. “Sarah and Joseph Rogers on their wedding day,” he says, handing the phone over. “They met in elementary school when my ma moved from Kilkenny. Started dating when they were 15, got married right out of High school.”

Bucky takes the phone and smiles. “You were right, you do look exactly like your dad.”

He leans over and swipes through a couple of the pictures. Ones of his parents in front of the brownstone apartment, ones of his ma in her scrubs and his dad in his fatigues. “Ma was a nurse and Dad was in the army just like I was. He was stationed out Libya for a couple years before coming back for the National guard.”

“Is this when your mom was pregnant with you?” the brunet asks as Steve stops at a pic of his ma sitting in the sunny grass of Central Park, holding her slightly swollen stomach.

“Umm... she—” Steve clears his throat slightly. “She had a really hard time staying pregnant. Most of the pictures I have of her past 1980, she’s pregnant in. She was always really open about the six miscarriages and two stillbirths she had before I was born, but I could still tell it was hard for her.”

“Jesus...” Bucky whispers. “That’s absolutely horrible. At least you made it.”

“Barely.” He flips through old pictures of his father’s funeral and stops at one of a terribly small baby hooked up to monitors. His ma looks haggard and worn as she stares into the incubator. “When she was pregnant with me, it was the first normal pregnancy she had. And then my dad got killed in the car accident. She had to work twice as hard at the hospital just to keep afloat and the stress made her go into labor early. They put her on bed rest in the hospital and managed to keep me in until 30 weeks.” 

“If I looked at you now, I couldn’t even imagine that you were a premie.”

“I was sick a lot as a kid. Had a shit load of surgeries and medications. I’m better now but I’m probably only alive because Ma was a nurse. She always said that I was a miracle child and that nothing could stop me, because even life itself couldn’t.”

“She sounds like a cool lady,” Bucky says quietly. “Sounds like she really loved you.”

“I was pretty lucky,” Steve mutters, a bitter smile pulling on his lips. “She was tough as nails and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of her. I remember this one time, I was maybe five, we were walking out of a food bank and some guy made a comment about, ‘welfare queens getting knocked up,’ and she just dropped the bags in her hands and screamed at him for almost fifteen minutes.” He lets out a snort and looks at Bucky, taking the phone back. “She always said I got my fire from her.” 

“I’m definitely my mother’s son too; me, Jenny, and Rebby, all of us but Lizzy,” Bucky says. “Easy to cry, over dramatic, can’t say no to food, anxiety problems galore. Us Barnes kids know how to kill a mood.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” he offers, “you’ve never killed my mood. Don’t think you ever could.”

There’s a split second moment when Steve watches something indefinable wash over Bucky’s face before the older man pulls him into a tender kiss. This one isn’t hurried like every other kiss they seem to steal, but deliberate and undemanding. He closes his eyes and lets the world burn halcyon as Bucky’s fingers curl around the hair at the base of his skull.

The words, “I love you,” linger on his lips and part of him wants to pass it easily off his tongue, but he can’t find the courage to do it. Put a gun in his hands and he would gladly march off to his death, but give him three words to pave his future? Steve can’t even get his heart to still enough to consider it.

He pulls back to look at Bucky and watches the sun rise in front of his own damn eyes. The brunet blinks his eyes open dazedly and asks softly, “Are you okay?” 

Steve reaches out and brushes his fingertips over sun kissed skin, swallowing back every word he can remember. “Yeah, thank you—I mean for asking about my ma. I don’t talk about her a lot anymore.” The words feel heavy in his open mouth as he gapes like a fish. “Bucky, I... I...” 

If he is the sinner, then Bucky is the saint in all of his patience as he waits for the words he’s been hoping for.

But they never come, Steve muttering, “I’m glad we got married. I really do mean that, and not just because it means we met.” His heart pounds in his chest as a flush rises in his cheeks. “Because I think I might be falling in love with you.”

He isn’t sure if he says the last sentence or not, but Bucky smiles either way.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby Sarah sings to Steve can be found [here](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lVUrdjWNNMY) and Steve and Bucky’s first dance song can be found [here](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=azRglONPRVM). 
> 
> Once again, I love comments!


	5. Wednesday: Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky get roped into doing yoga with the wedding party which ends up turning into more than either of them bargained for.
> 
> Later that night, an interrupted movie night gives their relationship its first rocky moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ I am so sorry it took this long. I was seriously struggling with writing this chapter but I hope it doesn’t show. I have half of the next couple chapters written already so it shouldn’t take another month and a half to get an update. 
> 
> Shoutout to [alastairWright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alastairWright) for helping me write the yoga scene because I was DYING. _DYING._

* * *

 

_7:00am_

“YOGAAAAAA!!!”

Steve falls out of bed with a startled scream and scrambles on the ground for his helmet and his gun, still half asleep. “Everyone get down! Get down!” he shouts blearily, heart racing in his chest as he presses himself to the floor.

“Hey hey hey, Cap, stay with us.”

He blinks a couple times, staring at the patterned carpet as he wakes up fully. He suddenly yawns and looks up at Sam and Natasha. “Huh? Wha’ happened?”

“You still with us?” Nat asks, holding a hand out for Steve to pull himself to his feet. “Sorry, we forgot you can’t do the surprise wake ups. You alright?” He nods because he is, doesn’t remember what had happened before he realized he was on the carpet, and Natasha smiles in relief. “Good. Now get ready, we’re all going to yoga in half an hour.”

He looks over at Bucky on the bed, sheet pulled up to his chin as he sits upright, and asks, “All of us?”

“ _All_ of us,” she says, pointing at Bucky. “Barnes has to come too.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to yoga.”

“Well, we’ll find you something. Maybe Scott has an extra pair,” Nat offers with a shrug. “You don’t get to get out of this, Barnes.”

Ten minutes later and Steve is sitting on the bed, hands clenched around his thighs as his heartbeat races in his chest. He tries to keep a straight face but feels the tips of his ears burn as he nods. “Yeah, no, they look fine.”

Bucky turns around and cranes his neck back to try and get a better look at his ass. “I can’t go out in public like this, I’m going to get arrested for public indecency.” He’s wearing Natasha’s spare sweatpants, cuffed to just below his knees to hide the fact that they’re a good 4 inches too short, and they might as well be leggings with how ungodly tight they are on his body.

Steve is pretty sure he’s going to _die_.

He just wants to grab two good handfuls of Bucky’s ass and bury his face in it until he suffocates. What a way to go.

“Seriously, Buck, you look gr—fine. You look fine,” he stammers, trying to keep his cheeks from flushing. Bucky looks up at him, almost panicked, and Steve tries to keep his own composure. “Everyone is waiting downstairs. You...” The brunet turns around, thick thighs on full display as he pulls at the crotch of the grey sweatpants to adjust it. “ _Fuck_ ,” Steve groans, face a little pained. “God, Bucky, you—”

The other man goes to pull the sweatpants down, muttering, “I can’t wear these, I know I look—”

“Hot as all hell is what you look like,” he says, cutting Bucky off.

He blinks at Steve for a second before a pink blush spreads across the high rise of his cheekbones. Bucky laughs and ducks his head, nodding quickly. “Okay, okay, we can go. But you have to promise to keep your hands off me.”

“I’ll do my best but your ass is fucking _incredible_ in those.”

They get downstairs and Natasha lets out a wolf whistle that echoes through the lobby. “Holy shit, Barnes! No wonder you’ve got Steve wrapped around your finger! The man is fucking packing!”

They both turn a deep shade of crimson and Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Nat, we’ve talked about this.”

“Have you _seen_ your man’s ass though?!” she exclaims, motioning up and down at Bucky.

“Yes I’ve _seen_ _it,_ ” he says annoyedly, Bucky giggling next to him. “Personally, I think your sweatpants look good on him, so enough with the cat-calling.”

“Those sweatpants get any tighter, I’m gonna start playing ‘Shoop’,” Sam says, coming out of nowhere behind Natasha. “Ummm, you're packed and you're stacked 'specially in the back. Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that,” he cackles as his fiancée full on howls with laughter, tears in her eyes as she throws her head back.

Even Steve laughs because he isn’t going to deny that Bucky has the best ass he’s seen since Peggy, and that’s saying something. And, fuck, that ass, in those sweatpants. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

The yoga studio is nice, just off the strip, and the short woman at the front desk welcomes them them warmly. “Hello everyone,” she says in a thick accent, “my name is Nakia and I’ll be your teacher today. Is there anyone who has never been to a yoga class before?” Bucky raises his hand, along with Laura, Scott, and Hope. Nakia smiles at them. “I’d like you three in the front to better watch me, alright?”

The studio is warm and lit low, with two rows of mats lined up already. The newcomers take their spots in front and Bucky leans back, patting the mat behind him. Steve stifles a groan, knowing what this is going to do to him.

Nakia has them start on their backs, grounding themselves. Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on how the yoga mat feels underneath his fingertips. Those fucking grey sweatpants flit across his mind and he struggles to push it out. Next, she has them sit there, legs crossed to practice breathing. He can do this, breathing was easy, breathing was good.

He can do this.

“So now we’re going to do the cat and cow positions,” Nakia leads, voice low and soothing. She explains how to do these poses for the front row, but Steve knows what’s coming.

He takes everything back, he _is_ going to die.

The cow pose has Bucky on his hands and knees with his chest and head up, belly curving to the ground, and his butt looking perkier than should be allowed. Admittedly Steve’s form suffers, but he can’t be blamed, the brunet’s ass was the most distracting thing he had come across in his thirty years on this earth.

He keeps it together for the next four or five poses, until Nakia instructs them to do a standing forward fold. It feels like a sin to watch Bucky fold forward and touch his head to his knees with his hands planted on the ground. Steve can see the pants ride up into his crack, the outline of his cock and balls just barely visible as they come back up. There’s no denying that Steve is hard, and thanking every god that he can think of that no one is behind him as he realizes how flexible Bucky has to be.

Is he doing this just to torture me? Steve thinks. He must be because it’s absolutely working and he’s pretty sure he sees a smirk flash across Bucky’s face during the next downward-facing dog pose. He’s so hard, so painfully, so brutally hard that Steve thinks he might pass out from all the blood rushing from his head to his cock.

They all go back down into Cobra and Bucky is all tight hamstrings and full ass. Steve makes the mistake of letting his hips dip a little too low and stifles a groan as his erection drags across the yoga mat.

“You alright there?” Sam whispers and he tries not to turn ten shades of crimson as he nods.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

He tries not to walk like he has a hard on but it’s at least somewhat noticeable to Bucky, who watches him leave out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a single occupancy bathroom and Steve has never been more grateful for the privacy as he presses the heel of his hand to his straining erection. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans breathlessly, rocking up into his palm. He remembers those grey sweatpants, the way they rode up into Bucky’s ass, the way—

 _God_.

He shoves his shorts and underwear down his hips, his cock springing free to slap against his stomach, and feels like an absolute teenager. The last time he had done this, he was seventeen years old and a couple boys behind him at the football game had been teasing Peggy relentlessly about her bra size. She had stood up and turned around, flashing them all, and said, “Is that what you wanted, you wankers? Now will you fucking pipe down so I can get on with learning how this blasted game works?”

Normally, his poor, formerly sick body couldn’t get it up unless he dedicated a good hour to it, but when Peggy had turned back to him with a wild and hungry smirk, it was game over. He had jerked off in the stadium bathrooms and bit his arm so hard that he nearly broke skin, trying to muffle his heavy breaths.

Today is no different.

His breath comes heavy and fast as he curls his fingers around the base, stroking his length loosely. It’s a little too dry but god damn him if it didn’t feel good as the hell he’s clearly going to.

He stumbles back against the sink and bumps over a bottle of lotion when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Steve?” Bucky whispers, “you in there?” The doorknob turns, because of course he forgot to lock the door like the idiot he is, and Steve barely gets his dick back in his shorts before Bucky slips in. The older man looks at him worriedly as he asks, “Are you okay? You look a little swea...ty...” Bucky trails off, looking down at Steve’s pitiful attempt to cover his erection. “That’s a... because... The _sweatpants_? Rea—”

He’s cut off as Steve slams him back against the door, covering Bucky’s mouth with his own. Their teeth clack together and his knee bangs against the wood as he shoves it between the brunet’s legs. Fumbling with their pants, Steve growls, “You have no idea what you do to me. What you make me want to do to you.”

Bucky gasps as Steve pushes his head back with his nose, sinking his teeth into the now-exposed, soft skin underneath his jaw. The gasp turns into a moan when Steve makes it into his underwear, palming the half-hard cock inside.

“You’re so fucking hot, Buck,” he grunts, rutting up against the other man roughly. “Your fucking ass in those sweatpants should be in a fucking museum. Wanna fucking eat you out so bad. Wanna shove my fingers up you until you’re screaming.” Bucky’s cock throbs in his hand as his hips jerk at Steve’s words. “Wanna watch you ride me.”

Their panting breaths echo off the tile walls as their mouths meet again, pushing and pulling like waves crashing against the coast. Bucky fists one hand in the front of Steve’s shirt and the other in the waistband of his shorts, a low moan echoing in their mouths.

“You gotta be quiet,” Steve pants, fumbling for the lotion in the sink. “Can’t have you...”

His brain melts out of his ears at the breathless moan Bucky lets slip when Steve finally gets a hand around his prick. The older man whines in the back of his throat, gripping the fabric of Steve’s shirt tighter. “F-Fuck... _ohhh_... Steve...”

“Shhh...” he hisses, using his free hand to shove his own shorts back down his hips. “Shh, just lemme—Hold on.”

Steve wrestles both of them free from their respective pants and underwear, his mouth watering when he finally sees Bucky’s cock out in the open. God, it’s fucking gorgeous. Thick and curved and flushed red at the tip, leaking pre-come like that’s its job. He knows he’s staring, doesn’t care that he’s staring, because the way it looks next to his own prick is fucking heaven sent.

“You gonna do something about it?” Bucky pants, a dazed smirk slithering across his face, “or are y’just gonna look at it all day?”

It’s a challenge if Steve has ever heard one, and he has never been one to back down from a challenge, so he slams their mouths together with abandon. He grabs the older man by the back of his neck, tilting Bucky’s head to allow better access to his mouth, and twists his other hand around both of their cocks.

They’re both so far gone, both such sweating, swearing messes, that Steve knows this isn’t going to last long. Not with the way his cock slides against Bucky’s in his hand as they rut together, strokes coming at a frantic pace. Bucky’s foot slips and he grabs at Steve’s shirt, stretching the fabric as he tries to stay upright. Every breath is a quiet, “ _unh_ , _unh_ ,”s in time with Steve’s frantic strokes and it only leaves him wanting more.

“God, when I get the chance, I’m gonna fucking get my mouth in that sweet ass of yours,” Steve growls, words twisting around Bucky’s tongue. “Gonna eat you out for hours.”

“Ste...Steve, fuck,” the other man moans into his mouth, cock pulsing against his. “ _Yo,_ _rekht_ _dort_. P-Please.”

“Please what?” He twists his wrist, dragging his thumb across the exposed head of Bucky’s prick. “Please what? Tell me.” Steve bites and kisses and licks into his mouth, the heat pooling low in his stomach as he pants, “Tell me.”

“Let me come,” Bucky begs into the blond’s lips, the words curling into moans on the ends. “Please, _unh_ , _b_ - _bitte_ , _ohh_ , let me c-come.”

“Let go then, come for me.”

It takes less than half a dozen more strokes before Bucky’s hips snap still and he comes with a broken gasp, fingers tangling into Steve’s golden hair. Come drips through Steve’s fingertips and splatters on his wrist, easing the slide of his own cock. He breaks apart from Bucky’s mouth and rests their foreheads together, grounding himself on the up-down-up stroke to keep the bathroom from spinning around them.

“God you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers as he tries to catch his breath. Everything feels hot, like he’s grabbed onto a live wire and his skin is burning. Maybe Bucky is his live wire, the electricity that runs through him, the reason for burning, all of it.

Steve can feel his stomach getting tighter, can feel his grip stutter. He swallows back a moan when Bucky whines, low and heady, at the overstimulation. “Steve—I can’t, you gotta—”

“I’m close, I’m close,” he pants, hips grinding up into his hand. “Kiss me, please, _fuck_ , kiss me.”

Sparks fly up his spine as Bucky fumbles for his face, hands bracketed on either side of his jaw as their lips meet. His eyes flutter shut and his balls pull up to his body, the older man’s tongue slipping into his mouth lewdly. Steve kisses him back and strokes their dicks together and finally feels that lasting thread snap. The world drops out from underneath him and he has to catch his free hand around Bucky’s neck to steady himself as Steve finally comes.

Semen spills over his hand, over Bucky’s cock and his own, and Steve can feel his knees buckle a little. It feels like one of his old asthma attacks, like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs and he’s been left hollow and empty, with only Bucky to bring him back to life.

God, what is he going to do on Sunday?

Their heavy breathing echoes through the small bathroom as they come down from their high.

“Note to self,” Bucky murmurs with a grin as he breaks the kiss, “wear more sweatpants in front of you.”

Steve lets out a breathless laugh and pulls his sticky hand from between them. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to jump you like that,” he says, tucking his prick back into his underwear. “I just saw you and wasn’t thinking. Don’t be mad at me.”

The water runs and he washes his hands in the sink as the brunet scoffs. “You think I’m mad about you jerking me off?” Bucky asks incredulously. “Top 3 handjobs, by the way.”

He shrugs a little, turning the water off and grabbing a paper towel. “My last couple relationships, it wasn’t like this,” he mutters, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. “It was hard not to question my worth after I found out Brock was cheating on me, especially because we didn’t have sex a lot. Like, why was I not enough?”

“You’re enough for me.”

He freezes, heart beating heavy in his chest as he turns to the older man. Bucky’s hands are fidgeting at his sides, like he wants to touch Steve but can’t bring himself to do it. Steve lets out a small breath and says, “You’ve only known me five days, how do you even know?”

“Because I see the way you drop everything for your friends when they need you, I see the way you worry about me when I feel myself slipping into bad habits,” Bucky mutters quietly. “You’re a kind person and you give a lot of yourself even if it’s not asked of you. How could that not be enough?”

Steve wants to say something, wants to grab him and kiss him again, but the moment is broken by a loud knock on the door.

“Steve, put your dick away and get the fuck out here!” Natasha demands through the door, all subtlety thrown out the window as she slams her hand on the wood again. “You too, Barnes, because I _know_ you’re in there.”

They both flush a deep pink and fumble to adjust their clothes. Bucky grabs a paper towel and wipes furiously at a wet spot on his sweatpants. “Fuck, Nat is gonna kill you for ruining those,” Steve giggles, pulling the front of his t-shirt out of his shorts. “Just try and act normal when we go out there.”

“I don’t think anything is going to make it seem normal when we both come out together.”

Steve relents to that notion and rolls his eyes. “Now or never, I guess.”

They slip out of the bathroom to thankfully only Natasha. She’s covered in a light sheen of sweat and has her hands on her hips. “You guys are absolutely disgusting. Don’t fuck in a yoga studio bathroom!” she hisses, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. She glances at Bucky and her eyes go wide. “My fucking sweatpants!? I swear to god, Barnes, you are buying me a new pair when I get back from my honeymoon.”

Bucky bites back a laugh and says, “ _Shvern_ _aoyf_ _meyn_ _muter_ ,” putting his hand over his heart.

The redhead narrows her eyes and presses her lips in a thin line to keep from smiling. Rolling her eyes, Natasha scoffs, “Ugh,” and slinks away from them, throwing her hands up. “I hate both of you.”

“Love you too, Nat!” Steve calls as she flips them off. He looks at Bucky and kisses him gently. “We’re the worst, aren’t we?”

A smirk spreads across the older man’s lips. “Maybe, but at least we’re the worst together.”

 

* * *

 

_8:12pm_

They spend the rest of the day hiking through Red Rock canyon with Natasha, Sam, and the Bartons while Tony and Pepper stay behind in the city to do an obligatory fundraising event. They had postponed as much business as they could during their time here, but a local philanthropic chapter needed signatures and a couple photos for an upcoming fundraising dinner.

“You know, I bet Tony would even rather be here than sucking up to rich people,” Clint says as they stop for water, the sun setting low behind the red rocks.

“He _is_ rich people,” Natasha points out, handing her water bottle to her fiancé. “I’m pretty sure he’s already spent almost twenty thousand dollars on us all here and he barely even knows us. Can you imagine how much he’s going to spend when Steve gets hitched?”

Steve catches the wink he gives her and rolls his eyes. “Tony has more money than he could spend in two lifetimes. I’m not going to tell him what he can and cannot spend it on,” he says, dropping down to adjust his boots. “He likes you guys and likes making sure everyone is having a good time.”

Bucky pulls his own bottle out of his backpack and says, “You know, I still don’t know how you guys know someone like Tony Stark.”

“That’s Steve’s story, not mine,” Natasha says.

Dropping back to sit on the warm dirt, he looks up at Bucky. “So, when I was twenty-three, one of the soldiers in my unit lost his leg from a sniper shot. Got hit by a hollow point right above the knee. Took everything from the mid thigh down. He was a good man, too.” Bucky hands him the water and he takes a long drink. “Two years later, his prosthetic breaks down and insurance wasn’t going to cover another one. I had heard about Tony Stark working to perfect new artificial limbs. So I made a couple calls.”

“And just like that, you guys are friends?” Bucky asks, sitting down across from him.

Steve laughs a little and shakes his head. “Not exactly,” he admits. “I called every day for a month and nobody would get back to me. So, when I was on furlough, I took the liberty of—well, I decided to pay Tony a visit myself. Broke into his lab and told him I needed his help. Said he liked my initiative and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Did that guy ever get his prosthetic?”

He thinks back to that day, of grateful hugs and tears and the bitterness he felt when Peggy had said, ‘You have no idea what this means to me, Steve. You are truly one of the kindest people I know.’ It had made him feel good, feel wanted, and it silenced all the horror in his head for a short minute before he had shipped out on another tour. “Yeah,” Steve mutters, “he got the nicest one Tony could build. Said it wouldn’t break down for 50 years. His wife was very grateful. Introduced Tony and Pepper to Natasha and Sam a year and a half ago and the rest is history.”

He ignores the look Natasha gives him and pushes himself off the ground. Bucky holds a hand up and Steve pulls him to his feet as well. The low light streaks across the desert and seems to turn everything into pure gold. He stops when the older man smiles at him softly, skin glowing amber as time seems to slow down. Dark eyelashes spread across Bucky’s cheeks as he blinks lazily, leaning in for a quiet kiss. “I think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” he hums quietly, echoing Peggy’s words five years ago for only Steve to hear. “I’m so glad I was lucky enough to marry you.”

“Okay, break it up,” Sam calls, wiping the sweat from his brow. “We gotta get back to the city. Got a theater rented out for movie night.”

Wiping red dust off his ass, Bucky takes a step back and asks, “What’re we watching?”

“It’s a surprise,” Natasha interrupts with a devilish grin. “No spoilers.”

“That means it’s a scary movie,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear as they all head back toward the cars. “Both of ‘em watch any horror film that comes out, even if Sam pretends like it doesn’t scare the shit out of him.”

“If it is a scary movie, it is your responsibility, as my husband, to hold my hand whenever I scream, because it is probably going to be a lot.”

He slides his hand inside Bucky’s and grins. “Challenge accepted.”

They get to the movie theater to find the rest of the wedding party waiting for them. “I assume this is another Tony Stark extravaganza?” Bucky asks, climbing up the steps.

“You would be absolutely correct,” a voice behind them says, and Steve rolls his eyes when Tony strides in front of them, still decked out in a tuxedo. “Popcorn’s on me, boys, so spend freely!”

At the ticket counter, they’re given special VIP bracelets to allow them to order whatever they want from the concession stand, free of charge, and to come and go from the theater as they wish. “I want a giant slushee and the biggest popcorn they have,” Bucky says, kissing him on the corner of his mouth with a grin. “And a package of peanut m&ms. My sweet tooth knows no bounds.”

“I’m pretty sure I figured that out after the fourth Frappuccino,” Steve giggles before putting in their order and grabbing a pack of Twizzlers for good measure.

The theater is a nicer one than he’s been to in years. Each of the four rows of seating was comprised of deep loveseats with cup holders between each of the sections. Natasha and Sam run up to the top row and drop down in the middle, Nat shouting, “Pick your seats, you have 10 minutes before the movie starts!”

Steve sits on Natasha’s right side, Bucky next to him as the other seats begin to fill. Laura and Clint take Sam’s other side, the two men chatting about the upcoming rehearsal dinner. He tunes out the conversations as Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and lets out a contented sigh. He laces their hands together as the lights dim and the movie begins to roll.

It’s a horror movie, as Steve accurately predicted—Hereditary to be specific—and it takes less than 10 minutes for the screams to begin.

But he holds on tight to Bucky as requested and even wraps an arm around his entire head to shield the older man during a particularly gruesome part. It’s fun and it’s easy and a thought in Steve’s head says that this is how it could be for the rest of his life.

At least until a faint buzzing rattles the loveseat and Bucky stirs against his side. But as soon as it comes, it fades away and the other man relaxes. At least, until it starts up again. His phone vibrates again and Bucky sits up anxiously, Steve watching his jaw clench in the light from the screen. The phone rings for a third time and he leans over to whisper, “Everything alright?”

Bucky pulls out his phone and tries to discretely check the caller ID, but, when he does, his face falls into a panic. He scrambles up out of the loveseat and stumbles down the stairs as fast as his feet will take him.

Nobody notices, nobody notices but Steve, and maybe that’s the problem.

He waits and waits and waits for Bucky to come back; seconds, minutes, maybe almost ten, before Steve finally disappears from the theater as well. He checks down the hallways, in the bathrooms but sees no familiar smile to ease his mind.

He finally spies Bucky when he gets outside the doors.

His puffy eyes are illuminated from the lighter clenched in his trembling hands. They flick up to meet Steve’s as the brunet lights the cigarette in between his lips. There’s another spent butt on the ground at his feet. “W-What are you doing out here?”

“You kinda left,” Steve says, leaning against the railing. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Bucky laughs bitterly and it cuts him to the bone. “I _don’t_ ,” he chokes, voice catching in his chest. “I didn’t—I—I mean I _used_ to, but I quit months ago.” He scrubs a hand over his face and takes shaky inhale. “Just go, please.”

Smoke pours out of his nostrils as Steve grabs the cigarette from him and takes a drag of his own.

“You know, I didn’t start smoking until I went into the Army,” he says, nudging Bucky’s foot with his own. Bucky snatches the cigarette back and shoves it between his lips, crossing his arms tight around his chest as he turns away. “Quit once I started going to group therapy with Sam. Once I started talking about all the shit I did.”

“ _I_ didn’t do _anything_!” Bucky shouts, suddenly spinning on him. He lets out another choked laugh and paces around in a circle. “Jesus fucking Christ, sometimes I think we’re so similar, that we can actually be together, but then you open your big fucking mouth!” Steve takes a step back when the older man jabs a finger at him. “You’re just too damn self righteous for your own good!”

“Bucky, where is this coming from?!” he asks, holding his hands up in peace. “What _happened_?”

“God, you’re so fucking _nice_ ,” Bucky snarls, haphazardly pulling the half-gone cigarette from his mouth. “I could probably punch you in the mouth and you’d tha—” He lets out a pained shout and drops the smoke as he holds his hand. “Fuck!! Jesus fuck!!”

Even in the low light of the movie theater sign, Steve can see the bright red blisters on his fingers.

A sob echoes in the empty parking lot before he screams, “ _FUCK!!”_ His feet stumble down the steps as he folds over, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Steve wants to go comfort him, wants to touch him and remind him that they’re stuck together, but he can’t find a way to breach the space between them. So he watches numbly Bucky drop back to sit on the ground and muffle the sobs in his arm.

“Buck?”

“I said leave me the fuck _alone_!” the older man screams, turning around with broken fire in his eyes.

It’s so harsh and unloving that it makes Steve take another step back. His throat feels tight as he just mutters, “Maybe you should just go back to the hotel.” He fishes out one the keycards from his pocket and tosses it down by Bucky’s side, the plastic clattering on cement.

He hurries back into the theater, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he tries to remember how to breathe. His chin shakes and his eyes burn at being forced to hold back the tears that are quickly coming, but he makes it through the entrance without anyone staring at him. At least, until he’s in the darkness of the theater tunnel where he can let out a shaking breath and press the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Steve whispers to himself. “He doesn’t love me like that.”

He can barely see the stairs as he climbs up, dropping into his and Bucky’s seat next to Sam and Natasha. Nobody looks at him, too engrossed in the screaming on screen, except Nat. She glances over at him and then leans forward to look for Bucky. Her eyebrows furrow as she mouths, “Where is he?”

He shrugs, trying to force a smile as he sniffs weakly. “Hotel,” he says inaudibly. “He left.”

Her face falls as Steve tries to keep his own from crumbling. “You okay?” she whispers.

He shakes his head, turning back to the screen in the haze of his sadness. Closing his eyes, he sinks back into the loveseat as he feels the first tear slip down his cheek. A hand squeezes his and he knows it’s Natasha, so he squeezes it back, grateful for the lifeline to keep him from spiraling down.

He’ll go back to the hotel and pack his shit and find a different room. Life will have to go on.

The movie ends and over the silence of the credits, he hears a, “Fuck you guys, you’re the worst,” from what sounds like Scott from a row down. Steve can’t help but laugh, even though his chest still aches something fierce. But he feels better than he did half an hour ago.

Everyone gets up, talking indistinctly about the movie as Natasha corners him. “Okay, so what the hell happened?”

Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he says. “He started getting calls during the movie and pulled out his phone after the third call. Then he just got up and ran out; I found him outside smoking a cigarette. He looked like he was about two seconds from throwing up from stress.”

“I didn’t know he smoked.”

“He doesn’t, apparently. I said something about smoking in the Army and he just lost it, shouting about how I’m too self righteous and nice.”

“Well, you kind of _are_ ,” Nat points out.

“Shut up,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “So he accidentally burned his fingers on the cigarette and just fucking lost it. Started crying and screamed at me to stay away from him so I left him the hotel key and told him that he should go back.” Steve leans back against the carpeted wall and hangs his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want this to work?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one is listening in. “I mean, your accidental drunken marriage?”

“I don’t know anymore,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I thought I did but he wouldn’t even let me touch him. I just, I just don’t know what to do. Sometimes he’s the happiest person I’ve ever met and sometimes he gets these mood swings where he just shuts down.”

“Sounds like you after you got home from Afghanistan,” she says giving him a pointed look. “We’ve all got demons, maybe Barnes’s just aren’t as far away as yours.”

He thinks about it and has to relent to Natasha. He came back to the States unable to stop fighting the war in his head and almost lost everything because of it. He looks up at the redhead and asks, “Can you—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you,” she says with a smirk. “Go to your husband.” She turns around and shouts, “All of you are just a bunch of babies that can’t handle shit!” in an effort to distract the group. It seems to work, everyone yelling about how scary the movie was as Steve slips down the stairs and out of the theater.

It’s a mile to the hotel and Steve knows that by the time he hails a cab, he could be there already if ran.

So he runs.

Run until he stumbles in front of the huge hotel, chest heaving. The elevators have at least a dozen people waiting, so he pushes through the door to the stairs, hurrying up flight after flight. His legs ache by the tenth flight and he has to stop and catch his breath on the twentieth.

What was he doing? Was Bucky really worth all this? Worth the heartache and the bitterness and the undeniable attraction between the two of them? Maybe Bucky will still be so mad at him that he’ll want to cut things off right then and there and Steve will never have to admit how he feels.

But.

But then he’ll never be able to touch his face and watch Bucky’s mouth curl at the corners and watch the flush spread across his sharp cheekbones and hold his hand and feel like he’s finally been completed. Fuck, he can’t leave now.

He climbs the last twenty three flights and takes a deep breath, trying to still his heart as he walks down the hall to his room. The keycard beeps and the lock clicks as he opens the door.

“Steve?”

Pulling his shoes off, Steve looks over at Bucky sitting on the couch, eyes red and puffy. “Your hand okay? How bad are the burns?” he asks as the older man picks at the bandages on his fingers.

Bucky shrugs, shoulders curling in on themselves. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” he mumbles before chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. His breath hitches as he looks up at Steve, choking, “I’m sorry.” He wipes his eyes and shakes his head. “Nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

Steve sighs and goes over to sit on the edge of the coffee table. “If this is too much for you, I can get another hotel room,” he says. “You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“The funny thing is…”

Bucky stops and lets out a strangled laugh, shaking his head as a tear slips down his cheek. “I feel more comfortable being here, being with you, than I’ve felt in years. You’re the first good thing I’ve had in a long time and I keep fucking it up. And then I get scared I’m gonna lose you and I just make it worse.”

He wants to tell Bucky that he’s not fucking it up, that he’s not making it worse, but Steve knows it would be a lie. Things aren’t perfect and both of them know it.

“But do you want to stay?” he asks and watches the dark haired man hang his head.

Is this where they end? Where their story places it’s final period; a finality to the whirlwind and chaos that exists in their wake? Will all they get to keep from this be the selective memories of better times? When Bucky looks back up at him, it’s a look full of desperate, quiet need. “I want to stay,” he whispers, voice cracking as he begs. “Please don’t leave. Please don’t make me leave.”

Steve lets out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding and nods. “Okay, good,” he mutters quietly as he stands again. “I’m gonna take a shower. It’s late and I’m tired from the hike.”

Bucky nods and begins to pull his shirt up over his head. The brunet folds the shirt quietly in his lap as Steve heads to the bathroom. “Steve?” He pauses at the doorway and looks over at the couch. Bucky wipes his cheek quickly and mutters a repeated, “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He nods and tries to think of something easy to say, but nothing seems right. So Steve just nods again and disappears into the bathroom to wash the day off of him.

The shower is hot and exactly what he needed, easing the tension out of his shoulders and back. The room is dark when he returns, hair still damp against his forehead, and Bucky is curled up under the sheet. Steve sits on the edge of the bed and lets out a quiet sigh. “I hope... I hope someday you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you,” he whispers, almost to himself more than Bucky. “I promise I could never judge what’s happened to you.”

There’s a shuffling against the sheets as Bucky reaches back and wraps a hand around his wrist. “I tell you everything soon. This. What _B’shert_ means. Why I came to Vegas. All of it,” he mutters quietly, voice thick as it cracks on the end. “But I need a little more time.”

He tugs on Steve’s arm and he goes down willingly, tucking himself tight against Bucky’s back. “Okay,” Steve mutters against the older man’s shoulder. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

It might not end up being true, but Steve can only hope.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me. Comments and kudos are _always_ appreciated!


	6. Thursday: Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demons of their respective pasts catch up with them, first at the rehearsal dinner, then at a bar after everything begins to unravel.
> 
> They’re able to patch things over the only way they know how, but is it enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y’all, so I’m back with more of this heart wrenching story! I know I’ve promised more frequent posting but I picked up a pinch hit for the Cap RBB that I’m finishing up and posting on June 30th (so keep an eye out for that!) that I was busy with.
> 
> We will finally find out Bucky’s big secret! Trigger warnings are at the END NOTES!!!! I did not put them in the tags so it will be a big reveal but there are some I want to mention. Nothing graphic but if you are concerned, click the end notes button before reading!
> 
> The next chapter is long because it’s finally the wedding and will be split into 3 sections instead of the usual two!
> 
> Enjoy!!

* * *

 

_6:25pm_

“So who’s all coming to this thing?” Steve asks as he rolls the sleeves of his button up to his elbows. He glances over at Bucky, spread out across two chairs at one of the tables, recounting some funny story to Pepper and Hope.

Other friends and guests have arrived in time for the late post-rehearsal lunch. The run though had gone shockingly well, considering the cast of characters. But now Sam’s old Air Force buddies and coworkers from the VA hospital descend on the open bar and appetizers while Natasha’s coworkers from the bail bonds network in DC swap stories of their favorite busts.

“My folks and sister flew in this afternoon, and Nat’s old man should be coming soon,” Sam says, pulling on his blazer.

“I finally get to meet the infamous Abbi Wilson?” he laughs. “Does she still think I’m stupid?”

“Probably, because you _are_ dumb as _fuck_ ,” the older man quips. “Not my fault that the first story she heard about you is that time you jumped into the Potomac after that girl’s wallet got chucked in by the pickpocket.” Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs, making Sam poke him in the side. “See, you’re a big stupid idiot but that’s why we love you.”

Steve opens his mouth to retort when they hear a shouted, “Sammy!!” echo through the reception hall. The two men turn to see a tall, dark woman striding confidently across the room towards them. She looks strikingly like Sam, same long face and same bright and wild eyes. The top of her hair is pulled up into two buns and the rest flows down around her shoulders. She takes a running start and throws her arms around Sam’s shoulders, knocking him back a foot or two. “My baby brother! God, I fucking missed you.”

Sam squeezes her back and laughs. “I missed you too, Abbers. I’m glad you could take time off your fancy prison reform job to make it down here.”

She pulls away from him and pats his cheek a little too hard before turning to Steve. “You must be my brother’s stupid best friend, Steve.”

“That’s me, ma’am,” he says, offering a hand to her. “The Idiot.” 

Abbi shakes it, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously before looking at her brother. “You sure this boy’s a Yankee? Got the temperament and manners of a Southern boy,” she says, turning back to Steve. “But I don’t ever wanna hear you call me ma’am again. I’m 42, not 60.”

“Steve Rogers, is that you?” a voice booms from behind him as he’s picked up in a bear hug.

He’s squeezed until he lets out a small squeak, choking, “Hey, Mr. Wilson!”

Sam’s father releases him and claps a large hand on his shoulder. “How many times have I told you, Steve, call me Paul.” Sam’s father is at least 6’5” and, even at almost 70 years old, still terrifyingly athletic. When Steve had first met Paul two years ago down in Ponchatoula, the man had rugby tackled him through the front door as a greeting.

Darlene, Sam’s mother, is a stark contrast to her husband. Tall and thin with grey hair cropped close to her head. She has the same gap in her teeth when she smiles wide and hugs Steve. “My lord do you look healthy, Steve! And happy!” she exclaims, kissing his cheek. “How have you been, dear? We missed you at Fourth of July!”

“Sorry, Darlene, we had new inventory come in and I couldn’t swing the time off,” Steve offers. “But I’ll try and come down for Thanksgiving.”

“You gonna bring your boyfriend?” Sam calls from the headlock his father has put him in.

They’re still on thin ice today, no morning kisses, no hand holding in the elevators. But Bucky will still give him the odd tentative smile, so he knows they’re still okay.

His mother gasps and holds Steve at arms length. “Where is he? Is he _here_? You have to tell me all about him.” He motions to Bucky sitting at the table and Darlene raises an eyebrow at him, leaning in to whisper, “He’s a cutie; where’d you find him?”

“Here, actually,” he says, blushing a little. “I blacked out the first night we were here and woke up with Bucky. Found out he was from Brooklyn and, I don’t know, it’s been nice. It’s been working.” Darlene gives him a knowing look and glances down at his hand. Fuck. His ring. His heat stops dead in his chest and he stares at Sam’s mother in panic. “We’re, umm, trying things out, see if we can go back and still be together.”

She just smiles and nods, understanding what he means. “I wish you all the luck in the world, Steve. You deserve some happiness after giving everyone else their own.”

Steve thinks about setting Natasha and Sam up, thinks about Peggy and Daniel.

Maybe he has put his own feelings aside for too long.

Darlene lets go of him and looks at her son. “Where’s my future daughter in law? You better not have scared her off the day before the wedding!”

“I’m right here, Mama,” Natasha says, coming up behind Sam. “He hasn’t scared me off yet.” 

Darlene squeals and runs over to hug the redhead. “There you are!” she exclaims. “Oh my Lord, you look amazing! You’re absolutely glowing!” She holds Natasha’s face in both of her hands. “Oh, I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

A small smile tugs at Steve’s mouth at the proud, hopeful expression that washes over Nat. He knows how much she loves her adoptive father, but Darlene had filled an empty mother-shaped space in her life. She had been welcomed into a large family without hesitation and Steve knew how completed she felt as her small family grew. 

It had made him happy to see her so loved, and the Wilsons had become a second family to him, but there was still that pang of jealousy in his heart.

“Darlene, I’m starting to get worried you’re going to whisk my little girl off to the great backwoods of Louisiana,” a booming voice from the doorway echoes.

Darlene clutches Natasha to her chest dramatically as Nick looms into the doorway, dressed all in black. Nat scrunches her face into a wide grin trying not to laugh as Darlene gasps, “This girl was born for the bayous and I will not hear a single second more.” 

“Over my dead body.”

The two parents stare at each other for a minute before both break out into laughter. Darlene lets go of Natasha and pats Nick on the shoulder. “Glad you made it out. These kids look like they’ve been having too much fun without us.”

“The good kind of fun, Old Man,” Natasha says, letting her father pat her on the head like he did when she was a kid. “Nothing you wouldn’t do.”

“As long as no one’s dead,” he says, ruffling her hair and pushing her away almost playfully.

Ten minutes later, they’ve all taken their seats at the tables. Steve snickers quietly as Sam and Nat make faces at him from behind Paul and Darlene at the microphone. Abbi watches them from down the table with a bemused expression and rolls her eyes. “Thank you all for coming to watch our son Sam make an honest woman out of Natasha,” Darlene smirks into the mic before winking back at the couple. 

“We truly never thought Sammy would settle down,” she continues. “Not for lack of trying, that’s for sure, but he _is_ loyal to a fault and often dumb as a bag of rocks, which tends to scare most girls away.” Natasha smirks behind her, silently pointing down at Sam’s lap and giving a thumbs up as the entire room erupts in laughter. Darlene must have a second sense because she pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “As you can see, they’re perfect for each other.”

Steve leans over when Bucky elbows him gently. “I’m kind of sad I didn’t marry into this family,” the brunet whispers. “This is less of a rehearsal dinner and more of a roast, and it’s amazing.” 

“They’re your in-laws too, if we stay married,” Steve replies in a hushed voice. “They’ve basically adopted me, so it’s a packaged deal.”

“Natasha is the first girlfriend Sam had that he immediately wanted us to meet. She was also the first girlfriend Abigail approved of, which is a feat in and of itself. She’s the best addition to this family we could dream of,” Darlene says with a happy smile, turning back to the couple. “Natasha, it feels like you’ve been what we’ve been missing all these years. I speak for all Wilsons when I say that we can’t wait until it’s official.”

Steve starts the clap that brings the faintest of blushes to Natasha’s face. Anyone else wouldn’t have caught it, but they’ve been friends for 25 years and they know each other like no one else.

They know every fear, every hope, every desire, and, when their eyes meet and they share a knowing smile, it feels like they’ve both gotten their respective happy endings.

“The buffet is going to open in about 10 minutes,” Paul says, motioning back to the servers setting up plates and serving dishes. “Bride and groom go first, so good luck trying to find leftovers!”

A few more scattered laughs and the crowd begins to mingle as Paul and Darlene step down from the mic. Bucky goes back talking to Pepper about the school district funding that Stark Industries is working on and Steve can’t help but smile. He loves listening to Bucky talk about his class, about his school, about why he became a teacher. They talked about it extensively that first Saturday night; Bucky explaining how he was always good at schoolwork but never had a teacher that really sparked anything in him, so he wanted to be that teacher.

“Hey, guys, look who it is!” a voice calls, and Steve immediately freezes, bracing his body for the full body jostle that comes exactly when he expects it. “The infamous Captain America, Steve Rogers!” one of Sam’s friends says. “Man, when I was deployed over in Kuwait, we’d hear stories about this guy.”

His jaw clenches and he focuses on keeping his breathing steady as the men go on and on about what little has been declassified about his missions and the legends that had been inspired by what hadn’t. 

Bucky and Pepper are cut off by the commotion and Steve has never felt more trapped. His stomach flips and he flinches again as someone claps him on his shoulder. The words come in bits and pieces—“I heard he went in alone with thirteen combatants…” “…ghost story…” “…can’t believe it’s him…” A wave of nausea washes over him as Bucky grabs his hand under the table and mouths something that Steve can’t hear over the men around him.

He hears the name, “ _Ash_ _Shaddadi_ ,” and loses his ability to breathe entirely.

Suddenly, all he can feel is intense heat like he’s still out in the sun for days on end again. His button up turns into his ballistic vest and god, all he can smell is sand and death.

Pushing himself to his feet, Steve lurches out of the group, choking, “‘m gonna—need’a drink.” He hasn’t had anything to drink for days but his words come out slurred like he’s on his fourth beer. His vision tunnels and Steve covers his stomach with one hand, trying to pull himself back to the _in, out, in, out_ of his breathing.

The food opens and everyone is too busy in line to notice him drop down at one of the two barstools. The shaking in his free hand has turned into full on tremors as he points to the bottles behind the bartender. “D-Double, anything,” he stammers, another wave of nausea hitting as the smell of burning hair hits him. He swallows down half the liquid in the glass in one go, the moment it’s set in front of him.

 _Breathe, in, out, in, out. Come on Rogers, this isn’t happening, it’s not real_.

He counts knitting stitches in his head, goes through the entire fiction catalog of the library before he feels himself pull out of the attack. The foreign smells disperse and he can smell crawfish and étouffée again. He swallows back stomach acid and lets out a shaky breath as he sees Bucky pushing through the crowd with a plate.

His grey blue eyes are worried but he makes no demands as he sets the plate down and takes the other barstool. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry or not, so I figured we could share,” Bucky says, voice small as he holds out a fork.

Steve shakes his head, finishing off his drink. It burns his relatively empty stomach but it’s grounding in a way nothing else is.

Bucky hums, “Okay, that’s fine,” and begins picking at the food. It’s quiet for a couple minutes as the older man eats silently before Steve can pick up a biscuit and nibble on it gingerly. Bucky watches him and asks, “Do you want me to go get Sam? Was it because of what those guys were saying?”

“I don’t need Sam,” he snaps, a little too brusquely. “And yeah, it was. True too; every fucking word.” He hopes and prays that Bucky wasn’t paying attention, that he didn’t hear what the men said about Steve’s time overseas. God, if Bucky knew what he did, what he was—

“You’re _not_ that person anymore, Steve,” Bucky insists, hand hovering between them like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch Steve. “I meant what I said Sunday morning when I found you in the hotel bathroom. I didn’t know you back then, but I see you now and I know that you’ve changed.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to the older man, just motions at the bartender and points to his glass. His body still feels like it’s vibrating, skin crawling across muscle and bone, and his fingers clench around the glass to keep still.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about your time in the Army, that’s fine,” Bucky says before shoveling a forkful of rice in his mouth. “I get it, the past can suck. But you need to talk to someone about it, so I’m going to go talk to Sam and tell him that he should come see you when he gets a chance.” He gets up, fingertips ghosting over Steve’s knee as he stands. “You should eat though. Food’s good.”

Bucky disappears into the crowd and he still feels like shit.

He finally manages to eat half the plate of food by the time Sam shows up an hour later. He doesn’t say anything at first, just orders them two beers each and sits down at the stool. They polish off the first bottle in silence, Sam checking the party occasionally. There’s dancing now, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve watches Bucky twirl Natasha around the floor.

“My friends are assholes,” Sam finally says, motioning to the group of men in the corner leading the ruckus.

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters offhandedly, swirling the liquid inside the bottle. “But it’s still six months down the drain.” His last flashback had been worse than this one but it’s been so long without one that Steve can’t help but feel like a failure.

“Remember when you got discharged and you were having almost six a day?” Sam reminds him. “When you got discharged and you were self medicating? Christ, Steve, look at you now! I’m not going to toot my own horn, but you’re probably one of my better success stories. You’ve been out four years and this is your first flashback in six months?” he says with an incredulous smile. “Hell, I’ve been out ten and I still get one at least every three or four months.” 

Steve lets out a short laugh and sighs, glancing out at the dance floor again. Bucky is showing off some impressive moves with Clint as his hype man and it never ceases to amaze him how well Bucky has integrated with his oddball group of friends. It makes the future seem a little more certain, even with Steve’s ‘setbacks.’

He looks back at Sam and raises his bottle. “To our shitty pasts and better futures,” Steve says, drinking after the other man clinks their beers together.

“Umm, Cap, what the _hell_ is on your hand?” Sam asks, staring at him with wide eyes as Steve downs his drink. Steve chokes on the beer, coughing as he drops his bottle on the counter. Sam turns to look at Bucky talking to Natasha and his eyes somehow widen further. “Holy fucking _shit_ , are you and Barnes—”

“Sam, it’s—it’s not like that,” Steve stammers quickly, his heart racing in his chest. “Bucky and I, it was—that night, on Friday when I blacked out—somehow we ended up married.”

There’s a moment where Sam goes completely silent and Steve braces for the explosion that will be coming any second. But the older man just stares at him blankly for a minute, both of them unsure where to go from here. After what feels like an eternity, Sam’s brows twist together and he breathes, “You’re _in_ _love_ with him, _aren’t_ you?”

There is an out-of-body force that pulls his head from side to side. “I just met him Friday, Sam,” he says, trying to keep the lie as convincing as possible. “I don’t even _know_ him, how the hell can I be in love with him?”

Then he sees a broken pair of blue eyes staring at him from halfway across the room.

He stares, the alcohol beginning to hit him, as a tear slips down Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky turns and hurries out of the room, wiping his face quickly before anyone sees. A sharp blow like a knife twists straight into his chest as a breath punches out of him. “I—I have to go, Sam, I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps echo in the hall as he runs off after the brunet. “Bucky, wait!” he calls.

The older man disappears around another corner, Steve struggling to keep up with him. He bumps into a man carrying a suitcase and almost goes flying, catching himself on the wall with one hand.

He manages to grab Bucky’s arm at the revolving doors, the older man turning around in a fury. “Let me go, Steve,” Bucky snaps, angry tears in his eyes. “I heard what you told Sam. You clearly don’t give a single fucking shit about me, so just let me go.” The knife twists in Steve’s sternum and it causes his heart to skip a beat in the worst way.

“Please, Bucky, I didn’t—”

“ _Stop_ saying that if you don’t mean it,” Bucky pleads brokenly, pulling his arm out of Steve’s grip. “You told Natasha the same damn thing on Saturday and it’s starting to sound like a broken record. You act like a completely different person in front of your friends than when it’s just the two of us together.”

Steve blushes crimson, more out of shame than embarrassment, and mutters, “That’s not your fault.”

“I _know_ it’s not my fault!” he says, close to tears as he pulls his arm out of Steve’s grip. “Fuck, all I want is for you to love me the way I know you want to, but you’re so scared. I don’t know why, because I haven’t been scared of wanting you for a single second. I even introduced you to my sisters the day after I met you.” Bucky’s face falls and he hangs his head, a tear dropping to the tile floor. “I just don’t know why I’m not enough for you.” 

“You _are_ enough,” Steve insists, arms dropping to his side.

He feels like a complete asshole again, like the worst person in the world as the older man wipes his eyes with his wrist and lets out a shuddering breath. “God, I need a fucking drink,” Bucky grumbles, pushing through the revolving doors. 

Steve follows him stammering, “Bucky—wait, come on, let’s just go back to the hotel!” 

“No, I’m going to go get a drink and try and forget the fact that you don’t fucking love me,” Bucky snaps, a flush creeping up his face that could be embarrassment or anger.

The words cut deep and Steve just wants to throw something, grab Bucky, and scream that that’s not true, but maybe Bucky’s right. Maybe he is scared; maybe he is a coward. He hasn’t loved anyone, truly been in love with anyone since Peggy. He had loved her so much and watched it all slip away from him. If he admitted he loved Bucky, then the same thing will happen.

Maybe after all the things he’s done, he doesn’t deserve love.

 

* * *

 

_8:13pm_

The bar he follows Bucky to is seedy, dimly lit, and everything just seems damp. Bucky is still mad at him for downplaying their relationship to Sam and won’t even acknowledge him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? How many times do I have to apologize to—” 

“I don’t know, Steve. I’ll let you know after about four drinks,” Bucky grumbles, dropping into one of the stools at the bar.

Steve sits down warily next to him and is just about to open his mouth when a man approaches them. He’s taller than both of them with short black hair and a smile aimed at Bucky. “Hey handsome,” he says smoothly. “You wanna come dance with me?”

“Um, _excuse_ _me_?” Steve cuts in, his fists clenching as he stares up at the other man. 

But Bucky just ignores his outburst and rises to his feet, smirking at the man as he says, “Sure, I’d love to dance.”

Steve watches the other man pull Bucky away from the bar and feels the jealousy sink into his stomach like acid, burning him from the inside out. His grip tightens on his glass to the point that he wonders if it’ll crack. 

He watches them dance far too close for his liking and watches the other man put his hands far too low on Bucky’s waist. His Bucky. Steve grinds his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache as he turns around to face the bar. The bartender gives him a worried glance but doesn’t try and talk him out of his anger. 

His shoulders pull up toward his ears, tensing when he hears Bucky laugh over the music. All he wants to do is get through the week, forget about Bucky, but that goes out the window when Steve feels the jealousy bubble over his mouth as he turns back around.

“Get away from my husband!” he shouts as he storms over, swinging his fist at the other man.

His fists connects with the taller man’s face as Bucky stumbles back from them. “Steve, what the _hell_ are you _doing_?!” he screams as Steve throws another punch.

“What the fuck?” the man shouts as he holds his bleeding nose. He swings back, catching Steve across the mouth. He can taste the sharp tang of copper blood on his tongue and lands another punch, the clatter of the crowd around them growing louder by the second.

The other man goes down hard, falling to the floor with a limp thud. A security guard catches Steve’s arm before he can reel his fist back again. “Uh-uh,” the guard says, hauling him toward the door, “not on my watch.” He drags Steve outside and tosses him onto the sidewalk. “Get the fuck out of here, asshole.”

Steve spits a mouthful of blood out onto the sidewalk as he peels his palms off the cement. The sounds of heavy footsteps echo against the metal steps as he looks up. Bucky stands in front of Steve, fuming in anger, arms crossed. “Why did you do that?!”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and mutters, “Didn’t like the way he was touching you.”

Bucky scoffs and snarls, “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

Scrambling to his feet, Steve grabs his wrist and pulls him close to his body. He can feel the heat radiating off the older man as Bucky scowls at him. “You’re still my husband for three more days,” Steve says, pulling his other hand around the brunet’s waist. “I _hated_ seeing you dance with him.”

Bucky’s expression doesn’t soften at his touch. “You can’t punch everyone who wants to dance with me.”

Steve’s grip tightens around his wrist and pulls him down the sidewalk as he snaps, “I can because you’re my husband. We’re going back to the hotel, now.” They barely get two blocks before he notices the other man’s ragged breathing. He stops, heart skipping a beat when he sees the silent tears slipping down Bucky’s face in the moonlight. Steve’s clenched jaw relaxes as he drops his grip and swallows the lump in his throat. “Shit... Buck... are—are you okay?” he whispers.

He nods quickly, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly. “Y-Yeah,” he says through a shuddering breath. “I’m f-fine.” 

“You’re not,” Steve says, an invisible punch to the chest landing square in his sternum when Bucky takes a step back from him. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” he mutters quietly. 

Bucky wipes his eyes with shaking fingers and forces a pained grimace across his face. “I’ve heard _that_ before.”

_“Let’s just say bad situations get into me.”_

_“This isn’t like last time!”_  

_“I didn’t do anything!”_

_Now_ it all made sense. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” he says, holding his hand out carefully. The brunet looks up at him with red rimmed eyes and sniffs quietly before warily taking his hand. “We’ll go back to the hotel? We can talk about this there.”

The walk back to the hotel goes by in painful silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle from Bucky.

Steve opens the door to their room, letting the brunet go in first. Bucky kicks off his shoes and crawls up on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He buries his face in his legs as Steve sits on the corner. “I’m sorry about grabbing you like that,” Steve murmurs, nudging their toes together. “You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky turns away from him, looking out the window in silence. It’s so quiet that Steve can hear the electric hum of the clock radio on the side table. Finally, he ducks his head and says, “Before you, before all of this, I was with another man. I’m sure you’ve probably heard of Alexander Pierce.”

Steve’s eyes widen in shock as he says, “Wait, Alexander Pierce, the _NYPD_ _Commissioner_?” 

The other man nods, still not meeting his gaze, and says, “Yeah. We met when I was twenty-two and he was so impressive, had a lot of money that he liked to throw at me. It was fine until I moved in with him two years later. It just started out with him yelling at me when I did something he didn’t like, but then he shoved me one night.” He goes silent and Steve can hear the hitch in his breath. “Then he started hitting me. Left me with bruises more times than I can count.” 

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Steve asks and immediately regrets the words that came out of his mouth when Bucky snaps his head up, furious tears in his eyes. 

“You think I _wanted_ to stay?!” he barks, his voice raising louder than it should. “You think I _wanted_ to be thrown down the stairs and break four ribs? Or make excuses when the kids in my class wondered why Mr. Barnes had a black eye every couple weeks? Or be threatened by his friends in the NYPD that I could ‘disappear’ if I didn’t let him do whatever he wanted to my body?” Steve feels his heart slam against the inside of his chest as Bucky wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I _tried_ ,” he chokes, his voice cracking at the end.

In the silence of the hotel room, all Steve can hear is the other man’s ragged breathing.

“Six months ago, we were in the car on the way back from some party. It had been almost seven years since he had started hurting me and I felt like I was forgetting who I was. Losing myself in my own head,” he says distantly, picking at his nails anxiously. “And all of a sudden I snapped out of it. I tried to open the door but it was locked. Alexander started grabbing my head and punching me as we got on the BQE. Tore a chunk of my hair and scalp out. Slammed my face into the dashboard hard enough that it broke my nose. Finally, I managed to get the door open and I just jumped out.”

“Jesus, while the car was _moving_?” 

Bucky nods, letting out a breathless, strangled laugh. “We had to have been going almost 60. Nearly got hit before I got to the shoulder. My jaw was so fucked that it was wired shut for a month and a half. Broke my left arm in eight places and my shoulder in three. They had to put so many pins and rods in there that it’s basically all metal.”

He rotates his hand and Steve can see the pink scar down the inside of his arm. Reaching out his hand warily, he traces the thin line down Bucky’s skin with his fingers and wonders how he never noticed it before. Steve can feel the anger bubble up inside his stomach and wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around the NYPD commissioner’s neck for daring to laying a finger on Bucky.

“I walked two and a half miles to my parents’ house and they took me to the hospital. I don’t know how I got there, I was bleeding all over the floor when I got inside. Worst thing is, they didn’t even know what was happening. My mom cried for hours at the ER. My dad and the men that worked for him went to go get my things. Alexander didn’t try and stop them. I thought he was just done with me.” Bucky’s breath hitches and Steve can feel hot tears threatening to burst over his eyelashes. “I moved home and then the calls started. Sometimes the line would go dead as I answered it, sometimes there would just be voicemails saying that my entire family was going to die for what I did.”

“He called you last night, didn’t he? At the movie theater. That’s why you left, wasn’t it?”

Bucky nods. “He hadn’t called in almost two weeks and I thought I was finally free. But I picked it up and there he was, screaming that he would find me sooner or later. It always comes from unknown numbers and I have no way of stopping it. I’ve changed my phone number sixteen times in six months. The thing that hurts the most is that he makes me feel like I deserved all the abuse. Like I was stupid enough to stay so now I just have to live in this hell forever.”

He curls his fingers tightly around Bucky’s arm and pulls him closer. “Nobody is going to treat you like that ever again,” Steve whispers.

Bucky looks up at him, red rimmed eyes harsh against his tear stained face, and mutters, “You can’t promise me that.”

He runs a hand through Bucky’s dark hair and says, “I can. Because I won’t let him hurt you.” Steve’s hand cups the older man’s jaw as he pulls him into a hard kiss, anything to get Bucky to believe the truth. All Steve can taste is salt on the other man’s lips, bitter reminders of the painful past. And all he wants to do is kiss it all away.

Steve falls back on the bed, pulling Bucky underneath him. One of the brunet’s tears slips down his cheek, running back into his dark hair as Steve slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s weight is heavy on the mattress and damn him straight to hell if their bodies aren’t meant to fit together like this. 

“I won’t let anyone lay a hand on you,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s mouth, hands fisting in the older man’s hair. “Not a single person.”

“Only you,” Bucky says, voice still shaking around the edges.

“Only me.”

The anger and jealousy burns from embers into a raging fire, flowing over Steve’s body as he digs his nails into Bucky’s skin, covers every inch he can find with his mouth and marks it as his own. He hears a desperately gasped, “S-Steve... please...” when Steve rolls his thigh down between the other man’s legs. Sinking his teeth into the soft muscle that connects Bucky’s shoulder to his collarbone, Steve relishes in the loud moan he pulls from the brunet’s lungs. “Please...” 

“Tell me what you want,” Steve growls, shoving Bucky’s shirt up to his armpits and over his head. He captures a hard nipple in his mouth. Bucky arches off the bed underneath him and Steve shoves him back into the sheets. “Tell me.”

“Yours,” he gasps, cock straining through his jeans underneath Steve’s stomach. His tears are still sinking into his hairline as he looks up at Steve. “I just want to be yours.”

There’s a siren wailing in Steve’s head that they’re going beyond moving too fast, that he can’t patch damage like this, but the burning red anger he feels every time he closes his eyes seems to muffle the danger. He grinds his teeth together and grits out, “Fuck,” as he fumbles with the buckle on Bucky’s belt before pulling his own shirt off. “Nobody is ever going to touch you again, Bucky,” Steve repeats so firmly that it almost scares him, his mouth on the soft hair below the older man’s navel. “Nobody but me.”

Steve rips Bucky’s underwear and jeans down his thick thighs, pulling them off his feet desperately. He wants to swallow Bucky alive, wants to just bury them both in this bed where nothing bad can ever happen again.

He wastes no time with words, choosing instead to dive into the warm creases at the top of the brunet’s thighs, nose buried in the dark curls between Bucky’s legs. He keens into Steve’s mouth, allowing him more access. Steve doesn’t miss his chance, licking a thick line up Bucky’s ass to the base of his balls. The other man whines low in his throat and digs his heel between Steve’s shoulder blades, trying to pull him closer.

Steve can hear the soft rasp of his skin against the other man’s as he spends no time teasing. He flattens his tongue over Bucky’s hole, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him against his mouth. Bucky begins to hyperventilate, his fingers twisting in Steve’s hair as he moans fervently, “S-Steve—”

Looking up from the warmth of his ass, Steve sinks his teeth into the soft muscle of Bucky’s thigh and says, “I want you to remember that you’re mine. That you’re safe with me. That nobody’s going to hurt you again.”

He delves back in, his tongue beginning to open Bucky up in earnest. The world begins to fade around him and all Steve can hear, can feel, can taste is Bucky. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and more. Everything he’s wanted since wanting Bucky was necessary to keep himself from dropping dead. Spit is dripping down his chin and neck but all he can do is twist his tongue deeper into the older man’s body. Moans are tumbling out of Bucky’s mouth like candy, sickly sweet and sugary enough to make Steve’s mouth water.

Bucky drags one of Steve’s hands off his thighs and up into his mouth, sucking on his fingers desperately. He whimpers around them, tongue curling between his knuckles. “This what you want?” Steve asks, face still buried in Bucky’s ass. His eyes flick up just quick enough to see the brunet nod hysterically.

He pulls his fingers out of Bucky’s mouth and slides one into where his tongue was just moments ago. Steve dives up to capture the gasp that is let out as he works his finger into the older man’s body. 

When he slides another finger in, Bucky is arching hard against his side. Steve drinks his moans thirstily and finger-fucks him at a painfully deliberate pace, fingertips curling across his prostate with every other thrust. The brunet is whining desperate words into his mouth but Steve doesn’t want to hear them as he adds a third finger.

Bucky’s cock is flushed red and painful against his stomach and has been leaking steadily since Steve had his mouth on his ass. “Please,” he moans needily, Steve’s tongue down his throat. “Need you.”

Steve doesn’t know how Bucky can manage being so full as he works a fourth finger inside. He barely brushes the other man’s prostate twice before Bucky is coming hard without even being touched. He arches like he’s being pulled up by a string, covering both of their stomachs as he cries Steve’s name.

Half of him just wants to keep his fingers buried in Bucky’s ass and the other half of him thinks he might as Steve uses the side of the sheet to clean their stomachs. He kisses the other man lewdly as he pulls his fingers out, Bucky’s hips seemingly chasing his hand. Steve regrets his decision already but won’t let Bucky’s body escape him as they catch their breath on the crumpled sheets.

His own cock is straining against his underwear as Steve kicks his jeans off, but he’ll deal with it later. He presses his face in the sweaty crook of Bucky’s neck and sinks his teeth back into the other man’s soft shoulder. “You’re mine,” he whispers around the tan skin. 

“Only yours,” Bucky echoes, and Steve is positive he doesn’t imagine the soft sigh that follows.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: referenced domestic/dating violence, described incidents of said violence, and a very very VERY tiny reference to past rape if you squint.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Can’t wait for your reactions!


	7. Friday: Copper (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the wedding festivities begin to ramp up, Steve comes clean to Sam about how he feels about Bucky and learns more about Alexander’s injustices from Tony.
> 
> And finally, the wedding of the year is underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fucking shit I’m so sorry this chapter took so long to happen. I had about half (2,000 words) of it written and then it ballooned to 14,000 fucking words for some reason. So I’m splitting it up. This first part goes through the ceremony and then the second part focuses solely on the reception.
> 
> The song that Natasha walks down the aisle to is “Beneath Your Beautiful” by Labrinth because it’s absolutely _perfect_ for Sam and Natasha.
> 
> Also, [this](https://i.postimg.cc/hPVfgCrG/101-AB653-0-F40-4042-A1-A8-AAA20-B70-ABED.jpg) is the suit that Steve, Tony, and Scott are wearing and [this](https://i.postimg.cc/XvYJfn0Z/E7-BF57-DF-3253-4-E4-C-97-C3-31-CCDD25-F362.jpg) is Sam’s suit. [This](https://i.postimg.cc/8CXCwx1Z/2-B5-A1-EF9-5-BBB-4-A54-8-ED5-8-D14-CE481-EA1.jpg) [is what](https://i.postimg.cc/xCk1Zg8n/19-B7-DC54-74-EF-48-A3-A878-3-E323497-E52-D.jpg) Natasha’s wedding dress looks like and these are [Clint’s suit](https://i.postimg.cc/D0LyvZ1N/FFCC9-FB4-9-B1-A-4-BED-ABDC-10-EE0152-CB86.jpg) and the [bridesmaids‘ dresses](https://i.postimg.cc/jqpLpVy9/7527544-F-FF19-425-E-BDD0-051-BCC1-E9-C00.jpg). Some pics of the aesthetic of the ceremony can be found [here](https://i.postimg.cc/3x7WwgSF/74-EB6-BCC-8-C19-4025-AFE2-088191-F3-CEC5.jpg) and [here](https://i.postimg.cc/QdbCKHvG/90-C443-E4-7-F17-4-D39-B70-F-DA1-BD4-ED1-D6-F.jpg). And lastly, as reference, [this](https://i.postimg.cc/W3Q1crqr/A454-AA4-C-ACA2-48-A2-ACD3-A1-CD9-D487-AED.png) is where the ceremony takes place in Mandalay Bay.

* * *

 

_10:30am_

Steve’s alarm goes off with his body still pressing Bucky’s deep into the mattress.

He peels himself off the older man and fumbles with his phone. After the alarm stops furiously beeping, he sees the thirty odd selfies that Sam and Nat have sent the wedding group chat with a “Wedding Day, Assholes!” sign plastered between the two of them, and Steve honestly can’t _wait_ to hear their vows.

His fingers trail back over the bruise his teeth had left in the thick flesh of Bucky’s shoulder and smiles as the other man stirs in his sleep. “Mmm? Steve?” the brunet mumbles quietly, turning his head on his pillow.

“Go back to sleep, Buck. It’s still early,” Steve murmurs as he leans down and places a chaste kiss on the corner of the other man’s lips.

“Wedding’s today. Gotta—” Bucky yawns suddenly and blinks his eyes open. “Get ready.”

“Go back to sleep,” he repeats, running his hand through the older man’s sleep-mussed hair. “I gotta go meet Sam and the guys in his room. I’ll just be down the hall, but we have way too much shit to do today. Just text me if you need me.” Bucky looks up at him, blue eyes shining in the sun streaming in through the windows and Steve wishes he could stay here forever. “I’ll see you at 5, okay?”

He nods and closes his eyes again. “Okay Steve,” he mumbles quietly, shoving his head back in his pillow. “Gon’ miss you.”

Steve freezes for a second, a soft smile flitting across his mouth.

All Steve really wants to do is just climb back into bed and repeat the events of last night, but Bucky is already asleep and Sam is texting and calling him non stop; his phone has been buzzing since he picked it up. He showers in two minutes, throws some clothes on, and hurries out of the room, his mind flickering back to the first morning in Vegas. He remembers to grab his keycard this time.

Sam throws his hands up the moment Steve gets into the room, shouting, “Where the hell have you _been_? They don’t have pink roses or white roses, they only have red ones so we had to pick new flowers or it would look like fucking Pretty Woman, and the caterer lost our fucking appetizers, and I’m about to kill someone!” He wrenches open the closet door and damn near had a heart attack. “Where’s my suit?!”

Natasha steps out of the bathroom, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. “It’s in the bathroom, groomzilla,” she says, patting Sam’s back. She looks at him with a smirk. “Hey Steve.”

“Hey Nat,” he says, biting back a laugh. “How long has he been like this?”

“About an hour. We took those pictures we sent you guys and then it hit him that we were actually getting married and he lost it,” she says as her fiancé ducks into the bathroom to get his suit. “I think it’s lack of sleep. We were up late last night trying to get our last rounds of premarital sex in and he just can’t hang.”

“Nat, That is far too much TMI for me. I’ve known you forever and Sam is my best friend. I know you guys fuck like rabbits but I don’t _need to know_ that you fuck like rabbits.”

“It’s true though,” Sam says, returning to the room. “My poor Baptist Gramma is rolling in her grave.” He digs two ties out of the garment bag and holds them up. “Which ones were we going with again? Green or the pink?”

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose and grumbles, “For the love of god, Sam, I fucking told you just to order the green one. Only the groomsmen have the pink ties.”

“I couldn’t remember when Tony and I went back to the tux shop and I was too scared to call you!” Sam whines desperately, throwing the pink tie on the bed. “You were finalizing the cake and I panicked! I’m sorry!”

Steve rolls his eyes as she winks at him and says, “Come on, Natasha, let the poor man off the hook.”

The redhead shoves his shoulder and then hooks an arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down into a lewd kiss. Steve groans in disgust but is relieved when the older man relaxes, a dopey smile replacing the anxiety on Sam’s face. Natasha pulls away from the kiss and raises an eyebrow at the two of them. “Better?”

Sam nods dumbly and says, “Yeah. Green tie. Got it.”

She pats his cheek with a smile then grabs some clothes from the dresser in the bedroom. “When are the rest of the guys arriving?” Nat asks as she drops her robe and starts getting dressed. Steve turns about ten shades of crimson and averts his eyes as his friend laughs. “Oh come on, Steve. We’ve been friends for 25 years and you still act like this? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“Outside of the baths that we used to get when we were kids, I haven’t seen you naked since that time we went streaking sophomore year,” he mumbles, covering his eyes with his hands. “But they’re supposed to be here at eleven.”

“I have to meet the girls and Clint at the hair salon downstairs at eleven so unfortunately I’ll miss the big bro down, but I swear to god if any of you show up drunk to our wedding, I will personally strangle you at the alter,” she snaps, shoving a finger out at them as she slips a loose, off the shoulder dress on. “Including Tony. I don’t give a shit _how_ much money he has.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll keep it to one celebratory shot before everyone gets dressed, okay?” Sam says as he tucks the green bow tie back into the garment bag. “Just whiskey, no tequila. We already knows what it does to poor Rogers.”

Natasha narrows her eyes at her fiancé but can’t stop the small grin that pulls on her lips. “Fine.”

Sam winks at her and Steve feels a pang of jealousy deep in his chest that Sam and Natasha get a day of openly celebrating their marriage when he and Bucky are forced to hide the wedding they only have photographed memories of. Sam and Nat did it the right way. They just fucked their lives up.

The redhead kisses Sam on the lips and Steve on the cheek, grabs her purse off the table, and slips into her flats. “I’ll see you guys later. Love you baby!” Nat says, blowing a kiss toward the older man as she slips out the door.

“You two are ridiculous,” Steve says with a low chuckle. “I almost regret introducing you guys.”

“God, I love her, Steve. I love her so much that sometimes I think I’m just gonna roll over and die when she smiles at me,” his friend says, an earnest smile across his face. “I’ve never felt like that about anyone before.” Sam drops down into one of the chairs and looks up at him. “You ever felt like that?”

He tries to swallow but his mouth is so dry that it feels like sandpaper in his throat. He thinks about the week he’s had, the rollercoaster of emotions, and realizes there’s no point in lying anymore. He has to admit the truth.

“I think I feel that way about Bucky…”

The other man raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Wait, so it’s that serious? Like a forever thing and you were just lying to me yesterday?”

Steve sits in the chair across from Sam and rests his elbows on his knees. “Last night we went out to this bar. We got into some stupid argument and this dude asked if Bucky was with me. He said no and they started dancing together,” he says, his stomach still turning with the anger that had been burning since last night. “I got so mad that I punched the dude he was dancing with.”

“Jesus, Steve, you can’t go a single week without getting into a fight?”

“He also told me that the last guy he was with hit him,” Steve says through gritted teeth. “I know who it is, too. Bucky told me what he did and all I wanted to do was rip that man’s fucking throat out through his mouth.” His fists clench and he knows that Sam is watching him like a hawk after yesterday’s flashback.

“Steve…”

“I swear to god, if I ever see that man, I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands. I don’t give a damn who sees me do it.”

“Cap!”

Steve snaps out of his anger and releases his hands, feeling the hot sting of where his nails have dug in. He sucks in a hard breath and feels the burn spread across his cheeks. “I’m sorry Sam, I didn’t…didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” Sam says, shaking his head, “you don’t gotta apologize to me for anything. I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay. Just breathe, okay?”

“I don’t need you to be my therapist today, Sam,” he grumbles as he rubs the small beads of blood off his palms and onto his jeans. “I know you’re my best friend, but you’re getting married today. I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“I’ve never seen you this protective of anyone since I’ve known you,” the older man says with a sly grin. “This is something special. You must really care about him.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink and all he wants to do is tell Sam about how he never wants Bucky to leave his side, but he just can’t seem to get the words out of his mouth. So he settles for nodding and muttering, “Yeah, I do. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Sam begins to open his mouth when the door slams open, Tony and Scott storming in in a flurry of dramatic music that might be from the Star Battle movies or whatever that Tony had made him watch a couple years ago.

“Oh my god, again with the entrances,” Sam groans, throwing a tissue box at the two older men as they shut the door.

Scott kicks it back at him with a grin. “What would you do without us, Sammy Boy? Y’know, Cassie’s still asking for you to babysit her again. She says Uncle Sammy and Auntie Nat are her favorites.”

“Well duh, we’re fun as hell. I bet still talks about that time I taught her how to rappel off the roof.”

“She’s learned how to do it with her bedsheets now, so thanks for that,” he says sarcastically. “I’m just going to send you and Nat the hospital bill next time she breaks her wrist, then we’ll be even.”

“Tell her not to undershoot the landing. She’s got to gauge how far she’s got to go before putting her feet down,” Sam offers, grabbing the whiskey bottle Tony hands him. “Nat and I ain’t paying for shit, but we’ll sign her cast. What good is childhood without half a dozen broken bones?”

“You sound like my dad, and not in a good way,” the billionaire says, grabbing glasses off the bar cart. “But I’ll still drink to childhood injuries!”

“Just wait til those two have kids,” Scott says, grabbing a glass and motioning at Sam. “The ER is going to have to make punch cards for them. Break 10 bones and we’ll set the 11th free.”

“It’s a good thing we’re never having kids,” Sam says, pointing at the glass at him. “But we will continue to be the coolest aunt and uncle to any and all children y’all have.”

Steve snorts and feels the residual anger fade from his bones. He takes the glass of whiskey Tony hands him and raises it towards Sam. “A toast to you and Nat. If you’re going to be idiots forever, may you at least be idiots together. I love both of you.”

“Save it for the reception, Rogers,” Tony says with a grin. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been too busy getting down and dirty with that Barnes kid to write a good speech.”

“So what is the deal with you and that guy?” Scott asks, dropping down into the couch and fumbling for the bag of bagels. “I heard Clint mention that he’s staying in your hotel room. That’s like, a huge step for you, isn’t it?” Steve can feel himself flush a little, staying silent as he reaches over and grabs a bagel for himself.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “I mean, I went a hell of a lot slower with the last couple people I dated. But it’s been good so far. Might even keep it going once we get back to Brooklyn.”

“Just be careful,” Scott says. “As someone who’s been through the ‘divorce’ thing, don’t get hitched right away. Lawyers are expensive and paperwork is a fucking nightmare. So much signing. My hand got cramps.”

Steve tries to ignore the pointed look Sam shoots him from across the room, taking a bite to avoid the need to talk. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, biting back a smile at the sleepy selfie that Bucky’s sent him. The other man’s hair is still mussed from sleep, cheek still half pressed to the mattress with the smallest of contented smiles washed across his face. It unknots something deep inside Steve’s stomach as he runs his thumbnail over the picture.

He tunes out the next couple hours of conversation, thinking about the past week and everything he had been through with Bucky. Steve does care about him, he really does, but it’s so unnatural feeling that everything is just right for once. Like everything is falling into place.

But then Steve thinks about last night, about Bucky admitting the years of abuse, and it just makes him sick and angry.

He’s not sure what to do about it, what he wants.

Sam shakes him out of his thoughts by cutting the dumb made-for-TV movie off and saying, “Okay boys, time to suit up.”

Steve dumps his garment bag on the bed and tugs his t-shirt over his head. “You’re awfully quiet, Rogers,” Tony say, loosening his tie over his head. “You know, you better get it together before the reception starts, otherwise I’m going to have to be MC and you know how I run my parties.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been to enough—” He freezes, thinking about Tony’s parties and the big wigs he’s met over the years because of his friend. “Hey Tony, I have a question,” Steve mutters quietly as he pulls the grey linen pants out of bag. The older man looks up from across the bed, eyebrow raising. “How well do you know Alexander Pierce?”

“NYPD Commissioner?”

“Yeah, what’s he like? You ever met him?”

Tony shrugs his shoulders, thinking for a moment. “Pretty nice guy. Decent commissioner, for what it’s worth. Always open to hearing new tech of mine; says he’s ‘trying to make the world safer.’” He unbuttons his shirt and peels it off, tossing it in some corner. “Always shocked people to hear he’s into guys though. Had a cute little…” Tony freezes, looking at Steve and narrowing his eyes. “I knew I recognized Barnes from somewhere. I didn’t think too much about it because I’ve met close to five million people over the last 6 years alone, but holy _shit_ , he was dating Pierce, _wasn’t_ he?!”

Steve holds a frantic hand out, shushing him. “Tony, shut up, don’t—”

“I don’t think I’d ever actually introduced myself to him before you brought him to the pool,” he says. “Dude was always really out of it whenever Pierce brought him to events. Alex said it was because he had drinking problems or something.”

“Bucky doesn’t _have_ drinking problems,” Steve snaps, a sudden rush of defensiveness flooding over him. Alexander destroyed Bucky behind closed doors and then lied about him to the entire world, putting the blame squarely on his shoulders. It makes him burn like last night, unyielding and hot enough to melt cities in his wake. He can barely bury it down enough to spit out, “When was the last time you saw them together?”

“Some party about six months ago. Saw Pierce at governor’s 4th of July party and overheard him say they broke up a while back. Said it wasn’t working out,” Tony says, pulling on the white button down. “What did Barnes say about him?”

“Nothing,” he growls, trying to unclench his fists. “Just mentioned him. Thought I’d ask.”

They’ve been friends long enough that Tony knows when he’s lying and also knows when it’s better to just not ask. They button up their shirts in silence before Tony finally breaks the uncomfortable moment. “I gotta fly back tomorrow, Rogers. Promise me when we both get back to New York that you’ll tell me what this was all about?”

Steve nods, eyes burning down into the duvet cover. “Might need you to do something that’s both unethical and illegal,” he mutters. “You still want in?”

Tony laughs, loud and jarring, and it pulls Steve out of his fury, if only a little. “There’s the kid I know. Surprised you’re not asking me to commit some good ol’ treason, just for shits and giggles.”

“That comes later,” he grumbles, face relaxing into a smirk. He wants to see Alexander go down. He has to see him buried under charges, has to see Bucky be free.

“You know, the scary thing is, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Tony says, but the look Steve gives him seems to shut him up completely. They’ll talk about this later, on a day devoted to the rage and heartache he feels. Today is for dancing and drinking and joy and marriage and Steve will be damned if he ruins any of it.

They finish dressing in silence, Steve pulling at the hems of his sleeves and the seams of his shoulders. Everything fits perfectly but he still feels boxed in, feels like he’s suffocating in the light grey fabric. His phone dings again on the bedside table and it’s another picture of Bucky, surrounded by different suits in a dressing room. He’s naked from the waist up, arm swung out, motioning to all of the options. The text says, _Help! Pick one!_

He enlarges the picture and looks through all the clothes before texting back, _Navy suit with the blue shirt. Can’t wait to see you in it and take it off you ;)_

Bucky texts him an eggplant emoji and a kissy face and Steve’s not sure how he’s going to be able to live without this man if things don’t work out. It’s all or nothing now; he’s not sure if he’d ever be able to fall in love again.

He doesn’t bother with a jacket yet, only buttons up the vest and heads back out to the living room. Scott wolf-whistles at him and Steve rolls his eyes as the older man says, “Man, I don’t know why I even bother getting dressed. Everything looks better on him. _Why_ does _everything_ look better on him??”

“Because he goes to the gym and you don’t,” Sam says, pouring shots for everyone. His suit is cut like theirs but the perfect shade of minty, sage green that makes his dark skin look like oiled bronze. “Come workout with us sometime and maybe you too can look like Steve.”

“Ugh, no thank you. I like my taco nights too much,” Scott says, taking a bite of another bagel as if to prove his point.

“Okay Scotty, I’m gonna need you to put down the carbs and come over here, I wanna make a toast,” Sam says, passing glasses to Steve and Tony. Scott grumbles but rises anyway, grabbing a glass. “We’re thirty minutes out and I just want to let you know how much I love you guys. You’re some of the best friends a guy could ask for. You’ve had my back these last few years and I don’t know what I would do without you. Thanks for being here this past week and thanks for putting up with my dumb ass. Y’all are the greatest.”

They all tip back the shots and Steve feels the whiskey burn his throat as he swallows, coughing a little. Sam claps him on the back before pulling him in a quick hug. Steve breaks away with a grin, pinching the older man’s cheek as he says, “Okay Sammy, it’s showtime.”

 

* * *

 

_4:50pm_

He straightens Sam’s tie and says, “You ready for this?”

Sam sucks in a shaky breath and lets out a panicked laugh. “Hell no, man. But I’m doing it anyway.” He buttons his jacket and asks, “You got the rings, Rogers?”

Steve pats his pocket and says, “Got ‘em.”

The wedding coordinator sticks her head in the dressing room door. “You guys have five minutes before we need Sam and Steve at the alter. Tony, Scott, I need you two to follow me to meet the bridesmaids.”

Tony and Scott follow the coordinator, the older man muttering, “I am not walking Barton down the aisle, I swear to god.”

The door closes and there’s a sweet moment of silence as the two friends look at each other. He claps a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder and says with a grin, “Come on, let’s go get you married.”

They walk through the hall and into the venue. Steve’s breath catches when he sees the white and pink flowers, fairy lights, and willow leaves streaming down to the walls from the center of the high ceiling. There are strings of lights streaming down between the pillars behind the alter, bathing everything in a soft glow. In the middle of the rows of chairs is a deep sage green velvet aisle runner. The waterfall echoes quietly from outside as the pianist plays in the corner, dimming the low conversation of the seated guests.

“Wow,” he breathes.

Sam turns back to him and grins. “Pretty great, huh?”

Steve grabs his arm and wraps him in a tight hug. Sam repeats the gesture as Steve whispers, “I love you, Sam. I’m so happy for you guys.”

The older man pats him on the back and says, “And it’s all thanks to you, Cap.”

They get to the alter and Steve leans over to whisper, “Isn’t there supposed to be an officiant? Who’s supposed to marry you guys?”

“My reverend’s flight got cancelled and he couldn’t another one until next week. Nat’s old man is doing the ceremony. We found out before the rehearsal dinner but didn’t want anyone to freak,” Sam says quietly, both of them realizing that some people are looking around confusedly.

Steve spots Bucky seated halfway back, sitting between Clint’s son, Cooper, and Sam’s childhood neighbors, Carol and Maria. He catches the other man’s eye and smiles softly. Bucky gives him a small wave with his fingers, returning the smile.

Suddenly the surrounding lights dim and a woman with a guitar comes out next to the pianist, stepping up to the microphone. Her voice is delicate and sweet as she begins to sing.

 _You tell all the boys no_  
_Makes you feel good yeah_  
_I know you're out of my league_  
_But that won't scare me away oh no_

Two little girls walk into the great hall together, each carrying a pale pink basket full of white flower petals. Lila looks a little nervous, dropping the petals at her feet as she inches up the aisle, but Cassie throws hers ahead with such vigor that some of the petals land in the rows of guests.

Cassie, always the eager one, gets to the front first, motioning for Lila to hurry up. The other girl does, turning the basket upside down and dumping a pile of petals on the runner, kicking them to try and spread them around. The guests laugh and Sam takes a step forward, kneeling to give them each a quick hug. “Go find Cooper,” he whispers, pointing to the row the older boy is sitting in. “He’ll take you back up to the hotel room.”

The girls run off as Cooper slides out of the row in front of Bucky, shushing the girls as they giggle. The boy grabs both of their hands and hurries them out a side door.

 _You've carried on so long_  
_You couldn't stop if you tried it_  
_You've built your wall so high_  
_That no one could climb it_  
_But I'm gonna try_

The next to come through is Clint, wearing sunglasses, even though the sun hasn’t dipped low enough to cast its light inside. He’s wearing a linen suit cut like Steve’s, but the color is a misty rose instead of the light grey. When he gets up to the front, Clint takes his sunglasses off, tucking them into the inside pocket of his jacket and fist bumps Sam, whispering, “This wedding fucking rocks.” He takes his spot on the other side of the alter across from Steve.

 _Would you let me see beneath your beautiful_  
_Would you let me see beneath your perfect_  
_Take it off now girl, take it off now girl_  
_I wanna see inside_  
_Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight_

Tony and Pepper come through the doors next, arm in arm. Pepper’s dress is the same soft pink that Clint’s suit is, Art Deco flowers embroidered in the lace overlay. The top of her hair is pulled back, the rest falling over her shoulders. She has a small bouquet in her free hand, Tony’s fingers laced through her other as he escorts her down the aisle.

He gives her a quick peck on the cheek as she goes to stand next to Clint, Tony taking his place next to Steve.

 _You let all the girls go_  
_Makes you feel good, don't it?_  
_Behind your Broadway show_  
_I heard a voice say please don't hurt me_

Next are Scott and Laura, near spitting image to Tony and Pepper as they come down the aisle. Clint points at his wife with an ear to ear grin, laughing when she subtly points at him back. When Scott lets her go, Laura stands next to Pepper, leaning back behind her to kiss her husband quickly.

The singer goes quiet, the music dying down to a soft chord. Everyone stands and turns toward the door with bated breath. It opens slowly and Steve can see Sam close his eyes, taking a deep breath.

 _You've carried on so long_  
_You couldn't stop if you tried it_  
_You've built your wall so high_  
_That no one could climb it_  
_But I'm gonna try_

It happens like something out of a dream.

Natasha comes through the doors, arm gently hooked around her father’s elbow, and for a split second, Steve doesn’t even recognize her.

Her off the shoulder dress is the softest shade of off-white pink, delicate sprigs of greenery printed on the flowing fabric. Her transparent bishop sleeves gathered at her wrists, ruffles hidden by the large bouquet of peonies, eucalyptus, and hydrangeas in her hands. There’s no veil in her hair, only a small gold clip to hold back her flaming waves. She looks soft and serene, like a renaissance painting by a great master.

In all their years of friendship, Steve has never seen Natasha like this, and neither has Sam, clearly, because when Steve looks over at his friend, Sam’s eyes are wide and his mouth has dropped open in shock. A tear of disbelief slips down his cheek as his soon-to-be wife approaches him with a smirk.

“Hey baby,” she mouths silently as she comes up the aisle.

“You look beautiful,” Sam whispers breathlessly, the faintest pink appearing on Natasha’s cheeks.

 _Would you let me see beneath your beautiful_  
_Would you let me see beneath your perfect_  
_Take it off now boy, take it off now boy_  
_I wanna see inside_  
_Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight_  
_Oh, tonight_

Natasha lets go of Nick’s arm as they reach the front of the hall and reaches out for Sam’s hand. Nick rounds the alter and Steve can hear Clint mutter under his breath, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Nick points at Clint and says, “Can it, Barton,” before turning to the guests. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming to celebrate Sam and Natasha’s wedding. For those that don’t know, I’m Natasha’s father, Nick. I adopted her as a little hellion from a Russian orphanage almost twenty six years ago now and I’ve honestly just been along for the ride.” Nat gives him a wink and Nick rolls his eye. “I was asked to step in and officiate when Sam’s reverend couldn’t make it out here and I’m honored to be able to marry my daughter to the love of her life.”

“When Natasha came and told me that they were getting married, I knew better than to question her. She’s a strong, capable woman and I trust her judgement,” he says. “Now, I’ve been asked to do a reading from an old Celtic poem. It was read at the wedding of her childhood best friend’s parents’ wedding and it always held a special place in Natasha’s heart from the first time she heard it.”

Steve freezes, realizing what the poem was. His ma had had the calligraphy framed on the wall of their apartment for years and Natasha had always lingered, scanning the words from the time she could read English. Sarah had sat her down around the time they were eight, explaining where it had come from.

And now it all had come full circle.

Natasha gives him a small smile as Nick begins to read the poem.

 _“You cannot possess me for I belong to myself_  
_But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give_  
_You cannot command me for I am a free person_  
_But I shall serve you in those ways you require_  
_And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand_  
_I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine_  
_From this day it will be only your name I cry out in the night_  
_And into your eyes that I smile in the morning_  
_I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine_  
_Nor shall a grievous word be spoken about us_  
_For our marriage is sacred and no stranger will hear my grievance_  
_Above and beyond this I will cherish and honor you_  
_Through this life and into the next.”_

Steve blinks back tears as he catches Bucky’s eyes from across the hall. He’s not even watching the ceremony, just watching Steve with a soft smile on his face. Bucky must realize the meaning of the poem because he mouths, “It’s beautiful, Steve.”

Something pulls at his stomach, deep and needy and heavy, like a rushing waterfall against a stormy cave. It bubbles up inside of him, filling his chest until he’s overflowing. Steve doesn’t know when it started, but every time he looks at Bucky, he feels this terrible need to grab the older man and kiss him until they both run out of oxygen. He can’t quite place the feeling, but all he knows is that he never wants it to end.

“The bride and groom have both prepared some vows,” Nick says, motioning to the couple. Sam fumbles with a piece of paper, scanning it quickly. “Sam, you’re welcome to start.”

“Natasha, when I first met you, you scared the shit out of me,” he says, laughter scattering around the rows of chairs. “You walked into Trivia Night with six inch heels and leather pants on and I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about you stepping on my neck right then and there. We went on our first date a week later and I called Mama the next morning after I got home and told I met the woman I was going to marry.” Natasha looks up at him fondly and Steve can even feel his own heart swell in his chest.

“I asked for my Gramma’s ring to give to you after a month of dating and almost cried the night I asked you to marry me because I was so nervous.” Sam squeezes her hand and blinks back tears as he tries to compose himself. “And now I’m about to fucking cry now because I love you so damn much. You terrify me and challenge me and astound me and made me fall in love with you the moment I saw you, Natasha, and I never want that to change. I’m so lucky to call you my wife.”

She leans in close, their foreheads almost touching, and whispers, “Did you really have to make it that sappy? You know there are people watching, right?”

Steve glances out at the guests and sees Bucky’s soft smile from one of the rows. He’s too engrossed in the ceremony to notice Steve, eyes glassy and threatening to leak a heavy tear. There’s a rose-colored desire in his eyes, a hunger that Steve can’t quite place, but he feels it in his own stomach as well. They wanted a moment like this for themselves.

Natasha moves back and brushes a loose strand of hair from her forehead, tucking it back into her comb. “Sam Wilson,” she sighs, “where do I start?” Steve snorts and Sam throws a glare over his shoulder. “You are many things. You are brave, hilarious, to quote your mother, ‘dumb as a bag of rocks’, and you’ve got a body like MC Hammer in his prime. I love you even when you lie in front of everyone and act like you didn’t cry while proposing to me, because you absolutely did. And I love you so much that I’m pretty sure I’m going to make you cry again.

“You fix people, it’s what you do. It’s what makes you so good at your job but it’s also something you do regardless of obligation because you just want people to be better. But you never once tried to fix me, because just being with you was enough to make me want to fix myself.” A wide grin spreads across her face as Sam tries to keep his own from scrunching up and she reaches a thumb out to swipe away a tear from his face. “But there’s one thing you can’t fix,” Natasha says, a devious glint in her eye. “You can’t fix the fact that there’s a bomb at this wedding.”

Steve’s heart slams against his chest out of sheer habit and there are a couple of panicked murmurings through the rows of guests but Natasha just raises a hand calmly and looks Sam straight in the eye. “It’s your butt. Your butt is the bomb. And there will be no survivors.”

Sam looks at her like she hung the stars and moon as he lets out a tearful laugh. “I love you so much,” he squeaks before picking her up around the waist and kissing her hard on the mouth.

“You’re supposed to kiss her _after_ you put a ring on it, Wilson!” Clint jeers, ducking when Natasha swings her middle finger into his face.

“All right, all right, Mr. Barton has a point,” Nick says, holding a hand out to Steve as Sam puts his daughter back on the ground. “Does the best man have the rings?”

Steve feigns panic as he pats down his pockets, everyone turning to him in alarm. A smile cracks across his face as he snickers a little, saying, “I’m just fucking with you all.” He pulls the two white gold bands out of his pocket and hands them to Sam, earning a slug to the arm.

Sam passes the larger of the rings to Natasha and gives her a minute to pass the bouquet to Clint before taking her hand. “I promise to always hide the knives whenever I see the neighbors forgetting to pick up their dog’s shit. I promise to always buy you chocolate, even when I know you’re not on your period because you’re a liar when you say you don’t have a sweet tooth. And I promise to always love you because you’re the best fucking thing that’s happened to me.” He slips the ring on her finger, trying to hold back his grin.

“I promise to always catch you as you jump into my arms when you see a spider,” Nat says, scrunching her nose at her fiancé. “And I promise to only laugh a little when you scream like a baby if it jumps at you. I promise to never pull my punches with you because you’d never want me to.” She slips the ring on his finger and grabs him by the tie. “And I promise to follow you to the end of the world if you’ll let me, because it’s me and you forever, baby.”

Nick looks between the two of them, an amused smile on his face, and says, “Well, no better time to pronounce you husband and wife. Go on and kiss each other.”

Natasha pulls Sam into a crushing kiss, all of the guests erupting in a cheer.

Steve claps hard enough to make his hands sting, tears of pure joy flooding his eyes as Sam picks Natasha up again, swinging her around. The long train of her dress wraps around them as he spins her, the green of his suit mixing with the blush of her gown. Steve has never seen either of them so happy and he hates the idea of this moment ending.

But end it must, Sam carrying Nat down the entire aisle, the two of them giggling and whispering together as they leave. Steve goes out first in the processional, giving a small wave to Bucky on the way out of the hall.

They regroup out in the gardens, the newlyweds already tossing back a mini bottle of tequila each. Steve runs up behind Sam, grabbing him around the waist and squeezing him hard. “You’re fucking married, holy shit!” he shouts, putting the older man back down on the ground. “God, I can’t fucking believe it!”

Sam runs a shaking hand over his hair and says, “I know, I still can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem real!”

“Oh, it’s real, alright,” Nat says, kissing him on the cheek.

“Hate to break up the party,” the photographer says, catching up to the wedding party, camera around her neck, “but we’ve got a lot of pictures to get through and very little time to spare. Bride and groom, let’s get started.”

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for part two and lots of feelings!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	8. Friday: Copper (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Steve’s past unexpectedly shows up to the wedding reception, causing a rift between him and Bucky. The only way it can be repaired is to finally stop running from the way they both feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the reception! Lots happens in this so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> [This](https://i.postimg.cc/XJh0ybV0/9-E15-D12-E-1770-4832-8830-8571579341-E6.jpg) is the dress Nat wears to the reception and this is what [Peggy](https://i.postimg.cc/FsXHPy4X/58-FDD0-AF-FDAC-429-E-926-F-CBD82-D01-F6-E6.jpg), [Daniel](https://i.postimg.cc/jSsyLWZP/4-E2-D2895-7-C54-47-E5-9-E38-8236-AB05-A34-C.jpg), and [Bucky](https://i.postimg.cc/xjzdysBP/5-F75335-C-5707-46-F7-9-C6-C-3-B5-ABB29-C605.jpg) come dressed in.

* * *

 

_7:30pm_

The reception is 64 floors up in a restaurant named _Rivea_ and there are people mixing around tables of appetizers and drinks when Steve pushes his way through the doors. There are flowers hanging from the modern lighting on the ceiling and he can see the sun setting across the Vegas skyline through the floor to ceiling windows. The floral-decked tables are arranged to make space for a stage with a band that’s just finishing setting up and a dance floor in the corner, candles glittering throughout the entire room.

He unbuttons his jacket and scans the room for Bucky.

He spots the older man over against the windows, a glass of dark amber liquid in one hand and the fingers of his other circling the flame of one of the candles absentmindedly. Bucky pinches the flame quickly between his thumb and pointer finger before pulling his hand back when he hears Steve approach. A wide grin spreads across his face as he takes Steve’s suit in. “Fuck, can I just say you look really good in that?”

Steve chuckles and backs him up against the window, catching his mouth in a kiss. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he whispers against Bucky’s lips, pulling the glass out of his hand and setting it down on the table. He runs his fingers up inside Bucky’s dark blue jacket. “I’m glad you picked this one. It was my favorite.”

“Girl at the shop thought so too. She said it brought out the blue in my eyes, but I’m pretty sure she was just staring at my ass the whole time.” Bucky reaches up and brushes a thumb over Steve’s jaw. “I missed you,” he says, softer and gentler this time, like it’s a secret he doesn’t want to share. “Didn’t even realize how much until I saw you up there and just wanted to take you back to the hotel room.”

“Mmm, sounds nice,” Steve hums, fingertips dipping into the older man’s waistband as he kisses his way down Bucky’s ear and neck. They’re far enough to the side of the gathering that they can have this quiet moment—the calm in the center of the hurricane of happiness around them. He runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair, grinning against his neck when he feels the leather _kippah_ clipped to his hair. “God, you’re so cute.”

“You go to enough Jewish weddings and suddenly you can’t go to a secular one without it.”

They kiss, slowly and clandestinely, against the window for a few minutes before the band begins to play a low harmony. The singer steps up to the microphone and motions to the open door. “Esteemed guests, I have the honor...to introduce the married couple!” The doors of the restaurant open and everyone’s heads swivel to get a good look. “Everyone, please give a hand to Sam and Natasha Romanoff-Wilson!”

Natasha and Sam come through the doors, hand in hand and waving to the cheering crowd. Nat has changed dresses, from her ethereal, flowing ball gown to a floor length, baby pink lace A-line dress with a deep-V neckline and lace overlay. God, she could wear a paper bag and still look like a fairytale. She glides across the floor in her heels, handing her bouquet to Laura as the band begins to play Stevie Wonder’s “As”.

Steve knows how long Sam took lessons because he had to listen to his friend complain every Tuesday for the last three months. He had pointed out that Sam could’ve just asked Natasha for some lessons, but the older man had paled at the mere thought.

But the lessons have clearly paid off as Sam swings his bride around the dance floor with ease and grace. Bucky leans his head on Steve’s shoulder, fingers finding the empty spaces in his hand and filling them like they were made to. Steve sways a little to the music, remembering the video of their own first dance, and wonders if they’ll get a chance to do it the right way someday.

The song ends with Sam dipping Natasha low, kissing her sweetly as everyone claps.

Steve turns his head and finds Bucky looking up at him like he hung the stars and the moon, eyes soft and bright in the candlelight. The flowers reflect in his blown pupils like a garden Steve can’t help but get lost in. He reaches up his free hand and brushes his thumb over the brunet’s sharp cheekbone with such careful precision that Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, leaving his heart to race like he’s run a marathon.

He kisses him like he’s got all the time in the world.

“Well if it isn’t Captain America!”

Steve breaks apart from Bucky and spins around to see a familiar grin. He lets out a loud laugh as Daniel embraces him. “Oh my god, Danny! What the hell are you _doing_ here?”

He shrugs and claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s been a fucking shit show, man. Peggy had a work trip that got cancelled last minute. We got dressed, left our flat at 2am, and have been flying for fifteen hours. We came straight from the airport and managed to catch the last bit of the first dance,” he says, pausing for a second to take him in. “You look really good, man. Fuck, it’s been too long.”

“What has it been now, two years? How’s Mikey doing?” Steve asks, glancing around the reception hall.

“Just turned four and acts like a headstrong teenager. Can’t _imagine_ where he gets that from.”

He’s just about to open his mouth when he hears his name called.

“Steve!”

The accent is so familiar to him that he knows it can’t be anyone else but Peggy. He breaks away from Daniel to turn around with a forced smile. Steve can feel his heart catch in his chest when he sees her and hopes nobody else notices. She’s still as beautiful as she was when they were together, her smile beaming wide as she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. He finally remembers how to make words come out of his mouth as he says, “Peg, I didn’t know you were coming.”

She looks at Daniel, wide eyed and a little delirious, before she turns her smile back to Steve. “I’m so glad we managed it though, I’m _so_ happy for Natasha.”

“Yeah, Sam’s a really great guy, I couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to handle her.”

“Speaking of being able to handle someone, who’s your date?” she asks, raising a curious eyebrow at Bucky.

Shit. Bucky.

Steve turns to see Bucky staring at the ground with an unreadable expression. He curls his left hand around the man’s waist, not even bothering to care if his ring is on display as he says, “Peggy, this is my husband, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Everyone, himself likely included, looks surprised at his words.

“Bucky,” Steve continues, motioning at Peggy and Daniel, “Peggy Carter and Daniel Sousa. Danny and I served together overseas and Peggy and I—”

“We’re old friends from high school,” she says cooly, stepping forward to shake Bucky’s hand as she glances at Steve for a split second. But her face is all elation and glee as she smiles at the two of them. “I’m so excited for you, Steve. Natasha never mentioned you getting married, but I’m glad you’ve found someone to settle down with finally.”

“It was a low key wedding, a little unplanned,” he admits, feeling Bucky relax against him, “but I’m really happy.”

They’re cut off by a voice at the microphone, Sam’s father saying, “Dinner will be arriving soon, so y’all need to find your seats!”

There’s some shuffling and Steve looks around to try and spot their table. He sees Clint’s messy hair and the matching fabric of Laura and Pepper’s dresses at one of the tables before looking back and Peggy and Daniel. “I’m sorry, we really gotta—”

“Go ahead, pal,” Daniel says with a grin. “We’ve got to run out and grab food anyway. Caterer wasn’t expecting two extra mouths to feed. There’s a McDonald’s across the street and I am dying for some good old American garbage food after two years of fish and chips. There’s just never enough grease across the pond.”

Steve chokes on his laugh as Peggy rolls her eyes. “We’ll be back after dinner,” she says, linking an arm with her husband and giving Steve a pointed look. “And it seems we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

He reaches out and squeezes her hand but it’s different than any other time he’s done it over the years. That spark that they always had between them, even after her and Daniel’s wedding, has died like an ember doused in water. Peggy must feel it too, because the edges of her smile tighten as she pulls her hand back. Daniel watches her expression change with a bemused expression and says, “Let’s go, Peg, the fries are calling to me.”

Daniel, ever the upstanding human being Steve knows him as, never once asked the two of them to discontinue their friendship after Steve had set him and Peggy up. He knew their history together but also knew his and Steve’s history together on the battlefield. The bond they forged in hundred degree heat and days without rations and scrubbing blood out of uniforms was not so easily broken.

So this is how it is, this is how it has been for many years now. But the dynamic has shifted now that Bucky is there and Bucky is real and Steve loves him.

_Loves him._

Fuck, he _loves_ Bucky.

Bucky, the gay, Jewish, kindergarten teacher with a sweet tooth, who’s the youngest child and the only boy in a family that Steve always dreamed of, who keeps Kosher and laughs through his nose, who cracks dry jokes with his friends and touches Steve’s face with careful, warm fingertips, who always keeps a _kippah_ in his back pocket. Bucky, who started as a mistake and has ended up being the only person Steve wants to spend the rest of his life with, because he loves him.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he barely realizes Peggy and Daniel are halfway out the reception hall door until he feels Bucky’s hand slip quietly into his own.

“Steve?”

He shakes himself out of the trance he’s in and looks at the older man. And finally, finally, he can see all of the clouds part in his mind. God, he loves this man, everything about him and Steve doesn’t know why it took him so long to realize it. He’s been so busy just putting out fires to think about why everything was burning, and it wasn’t from chaos, but from pure desire.

“Yeah, yeah, Buck, I’m fine,” he mutters, a dizzied smile falling across his face. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

They find their seats at the table with the Bartons, Tony and Pepper, and Scott and Hope, right as the salads are coming out. It’s a small first course and he’s still fucking starving after he finishes.

Bucky is abnormally quiet, laughing softly at one of Hope’s jokes as he nurses his whiskey and Steve tries not to worry too much. It’s been a long day, he reminds himself, with a lot of festivities and they had a long night last night.

Everything was fine.

Steve is chatting with Pepper when the main course comes out. He hasn’t eaten anything substantial today except for the bagel and coffee Tony had brought this morning so, the moment the waiter sets the plate in front of him, he spends no time before digging in. The pork tenderloin all but melts in his mouth and the roasted apples and lemons pull the whole dish together. For almost fifteen minutes, there’s talk around the table about how good the food is, until Pepper looks up from her plate and leans over to Steve to whisper, “Is he okay? He’s not eating.”

Fucking _hell_.

He had told Natasha and Sam to just give his +1 whatever he was having on Monday when he had first decided Bucky was coming to the wedding with him. But he had never updated the menu when he found out Bucky kept Kosher.

Looking over at the older man, his stomach sinks when he sees Bucky’s hands balled up into fists at his thighs. His eyes are rimmed with red like they’re trying to hold back tears as he looks at Steve and swallows thickly. “I—I can’t eat this, Steve…it’s not—I can’t eat pork, it’s not Kosher,” he stammers, face flushing pink with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—didn’t want to make a—I c-can’t…”

“God damn it, Bucky, I’m sorry, I totally forgot to let them know you can’t have pork,” Steve apologizes. “I’ll go see if anyone has a chicken plate they don’t want.”

Looking around the room, it may be harder than it looks. Everyone has started eating already but Steve spies one chicken plate sitting uneaten four tables back from theirs. Steve scrambles out of his chair and across the banquet hall. He spies a dark haired woman heading toward the seat and recognizes her as Maria, Nat’s coworker.

They reach the table at the same time and Steve leans one hand on the table, blocking her from sitting, and says, “Maria! I didn’t know you were coming!””

She raises an eyebrow at him and says, “Umm, hey, can I sit down?”

“I need a favor,” he says. “I accidentally forgot to tell Nat that my +1 needed chicken instead of pork because he’s Jewish. And everyone’s eating already and I need your plate.”

She throws her head back and groans, dark waves falling over her shoulders, and says, “I hate pork, ugh, but if it’s really that important, just take it.” She jabs a finger in his chest. “You owe me big time, Rogers.”

He quickly kisses her on the cheek and takes her plate. Steve can see Bucky just staring at his own plate dejectedly and feels a pang of guilt. Bucky had done so much to pull Steve into his own life and he still had more work to do. Bending down, Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head and sets the plate down, murmuring, “I’m still sorry about the pork thing. I never meant for that to happen.”

Bucky looks at the chicken before looking up at Steve with wide eyes. He wraps a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and kisses him hard. When Bucky pulls away, he can hear the older man whisper, “Thank you.”

Steve takes the other plate and returns it to a begrudging Maria before dropping back into his seat. Bucky reaches over underneath the table and takes his hand, squeezing it with another grateful smile that sparks something deep inside him. There isn’t anything that Steve wouldn’t do for this man. He’d carry him over fire and water, would follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant that Bucky would love him even a fraction of how much Steve wants him in return.

Dinner goes without another hitch until Nick stands, gently tapping the edge of his knife against his champagne flute. “I think it’s time for the best man to make a speech, don’t you think?”

Sam lets out a wolf whistle and shouts, “Don’t fuck it up, Rogers!”

He flushes a little pink as the guests laugh and clap, but stands anyway and walks to the front table where Nick hands him a microphone. Steve looks out over all the faces staring back at him and feels a mild panic, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So,” he says with a desperate grin, “I probably should’ve written something for this, I guess?” There’s scattered laughter and Steve continues. “I’ve known Natasha since we were five years old. I got into a fight with some older kids, well, more like I was getting my ass handed to me by some eight year olds. All of a sudden I see a flash of red hair come flying down from the top of the monkey bars and Natasha singlehandedly pulls all three kids off of me. She pulled me out of the dirt, pointed at me, and said, ‘Stupid. Friend.’ Which I’m still not sure if they were the only words she knew or just the most appropriate ones.

“We’ve been through hell and back together, and Nat has been my rock through it all. She dropped everything when I was at my lowest and made it her mission to get me back on my feet,” Steve says quietly, a soft smile on his face. “But she had some competition. Sam started as my therapist, who turned into my drinking buddy, who turned into my best friend. After a couple months, it felt like we’d known each other our whole lives. I trust Sam with my life because I already owe it to him. I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for him.” Everyone goes quiet and Steve feels his cheeks heat up when he catches Bucky’s concerned eyes.

But he smiles and lets out a sharp laugh, grinning back at the newlyweds. “But I can’t imagine anyone better for Sam and Natasha than Natasha and Sam. You guys are everything I want to be when I grow up, as dumb as that sounds. You’re wild and crazy and do everything you can to hype each other up. You two could conquer the world if you wanted to, but you’re too busy being in love to do it,” Steve says, lightening the mood. “You guys are fucking awesome and I’m so happy that I even got to be a part of this day. I love both of you so much.”

All of the guests begin to clap as Steve lowers the mic and laugh when Sam slides his plate to the side and climbs up onto the table. “I fucking love you, man!” Sam shouts before hopping down to the ground and all but jumping into his arms. Steve catches him just in time and tries to keep them both from falling over. “Best fucking speech, am I right?” the older man shouts before letting go and climbing back over the table.

Steve hands the microphone back and hurries back to the table as quickly as he can, still jittery from the nerves. He hasn’t done much public speaking since his Army daysand it never really gets easier.

But Bucky gives him a quick kiss when he sits back down, murmuring, “That was a great speech, Steve. I still don’t believe you didn’t rehearse that beforehand.”

“I never write shit down because it only turns out worse than what’s in my head,” he says, downing the rest of his champagne. “But god, I was so fucking nervous that I almost puked on the floor.”

There’s more drinks and a fantastic father-daughter dance to “My Girl” with Natasha and Nick, followed by Sam and Darlene dancing to “Stand by Me” that brings everyone to tears.

After the dancing and bouquet toss—which Pepper catches, much to Tony’s delight—everyone goes quiet as they wheel out the cake. It’s a thing of beauty, it really is. Natasha’s choice in the angry old Russian lady was well placed. The four-tier cake is lightly coated in a soft, sage green frosting and decorated with flowers and greenery. The color matches Sam’s suit and reminds Steve of Natasha’s ceremony dress and bouquet.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice behind him says, making him jump a little. He turns to see Peggy wink at him, Daniel’s arm around her shoulder. Her hair has begun to come out of her bun, falling loosely in waves around her neck.

“It tastes good too,” Steve whispers back, tilting his head toward the cake. “Bucky and I went with Nat to the cake shop. Lady that owns it is scary but she makes great desserts.” Peggy lets out a light laugh, nose scrunching a little, and Steve knows the tips of his ears are burning at the sound.

He turns back just in time to clap as Natasha and Sam cut the first slice, each of them grabbing a finger-pinch of cake. Sam catches the edge of her cheek as he shoves the bite in her mouth and gets a mild punch to the stomach and cake up the nose for his effort.

Steve feels Bucky’s hand brush against his and looks over at the other man. He’s staring at Steve like he’s so desperate to say something, but has forced himself to swallow all of his words. Bucky chews on the inside of his lip, fingers reaching for him again in his silence. He takes them, offering a reassuring squeeze as he whispers, “Are you okay?”

The smallest crease appears in the center of Bucky’s brows as he nods, like he himself is unsure of the answer. There’s a moment where Steve thinks about leaning in to kiss him, but it’s broken when Peggy wraps a hand around Bucky’s arm and pulls him away towards the tables, shouting, “Grab us all some cake, Steve! I want a chance to talk with your gorgeous husband!”

Bucky looks a little panicked as Peggy drags him away and Steve knows his own face must mirror it, because Daniel gives him a reassuring pat on the back and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she goes easy on him.”

By the time he returns with 4 plates balanced in his arms, Peggy is recounting some story from their time in America, bracelets jangling as she motions with her arms. “And so after I fought my way into the warehouse, the whole damn thing explodes; had to jump on my getaway car to keep from getting scorched,” she says. “But all the hard work paid off and they wanted me to run the London department, so I couldn’t say no. As much as we loved New York, it was nice for me to finally go home.”

“And it let me be a little closer to my parents in Portugal, so I said why the hell not?” Daniel catches Peggy’s wrist when she tries to give her a gentle shove, kissing her knuckles in a tender show of affection. “I’m just joking, I’d follow this lady anywhere if I had to.”

“Don’t give her too many ideas, Danny, she’ll make you do it,” Steve says as he sets the plates on the table and settles into the spot next to Bucky.

Peggy narrows her eyes at him and pulls the plate closer to her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I don’t remember you complaining when we used to get into trouble together,” she says with a sly grin before she takes a bite of cake. “In fact, I quite remember you being the mastermind behind most of it.”

“My trouble making days are behind me, Peg,” he says, digging into his own slice. “I like my quiet little life at the library with my books and my knitting.”

“And your husband,” she points out, almost a little suspicious.

“And Bucky,” Steve says firmly.

A silent: “ _He’s everything I could ever want_ ,” floats through his head, even if he can’t get it past his lips. It’s true, even if he hasn’t admitted it to himself yet. He’s stupid for thinking that this wasn’t what he needed from the moment he locked himself out of his hotel room over a week ago.

“So tell me about yourself, James,” Peggy says, adjusting her skirt as she crosses her legs. “How’d you and Steve meet?”

Bucky flushes red and chews on the inside of his lip. “Umm, well, let’s see. Brooklyn born and raised, just like Steve, but more of the Jewish side of Brooklyn. I’m a kindergarten teacher over in Bay Ridge and I honestly have the best class ever. I come from a pretty big family and I’m the youngest of four.”

“Brothers? Sisters? Both?”

“Three sisters, Rebby, Jenny, and Lizzy. They’re all pretty great but yeah, definitely sometimes treat me like the baby they think I still am. My mom’s a history professor at NYU and dad’s in construction. Pretty average life until I met this guy over here,” he says, relaxing a little as he nudges Steve. “We met at a bar and that was it, I knew I had found the perfect guy.”

“Well, we’ve been waiting for old Mr. Rogers over here to find someone to enjoy the throes of marriage with,” Daniel says with a grin. “Me and Peg got married at 24, so Steve’s a bit late to the game.”

“Hey, I’m only 30,” Steve laughs, kicking the other man in the knee, hearing the metal joint ding a little underneath the fabric. “Ah, shit, sorry man.”

Daniel shrugs and raps his knuckles on his prosthetic. “Don’t worry,” he says, “you can’t do much damage to it. Could probably hit it with a M32 and wouldn’t do a damn thing to it. Tony does good work.” When he sees Bucky’s confused expression, Daniel puts his foot up on the side of Peggy’s chair, rolling his pant leg up to his thigh. The prosthetic shines in the light, nanotechnology glowing a soft blue around where it meets his skin. “Got my leg blown off in Jordan and got an upgrade.”

“Did you know that Steve is the reason Daniel has the prosthetic he has,” Peggy says with a smirk as Steve blushes a slight pink. Bucky offers him a reverent smile as she continues. “When Daniel and I had gotten married, my insurance didn’t cover a new prosthesis for his leg, so, when it cracked, Steve pulled some strings with Tony to have a custom piece made, completely free of charge.”

“I heard about that story,” Bucky says, “but I didn’t realize it was for someone Steve was…” Peggy raises an eyebrow at him as he trails off and, for a second, Steve wonders if he’s figured it out. But Bucky just takes another sip of his whiskey and mutters, “Someone he was so close with.”

The music changes from a slow tune that had faded into the back of Steve’s skull to a lively rendition of Elton John’s “Saturday Night’s Alright”, Peggy’s eyes instantly lighting up. He and Daniel share a look, already knowing what’s coming, and Daniel rolls down his pant leg in preparation. He holds out his hand before she can even grab for it, saying, “Let’s show everyone how it’s done, babe.”

Peggy drags her husband out to the dance floor with a flounce of her black dress, throwing a wicked smile back to Steve before she begins to dance wildly, hair whipping around her head like a thorned halo.

No wonder everyone that she pulled into her orbit fell in love with her.

Steve watches her bounce around with Daniel for almost a minute before turning back to Bucky, stomach sinking when he sees the older man just staring at his lap, picking at his nails absentmindedly. There’s something detached and withdrawn in his stare, head bobbing slightly to the music to stay grounded and Bucky jumps a little when Steve puts a hand on his knee, asking, “Hey, you sure you’re okay?”

He forces a smile, running his hand through his hair and adjusting the clip holding his _kippah_ in place. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just…” Bucky mutters, fumbling for words. “I’m missing the beginning of _Shabbos_ and I feel a little off. I’m fine—it’s fine—I want to be here, but after dinner, it’s just—I don’t feel like myself. A little disconnected.”

Steve sits up straighter in his chair and leans in so their shoulders are almost touching. “Do you want to go back upstairs? I can come with you, you could show me—”

“Steve, I said I didn’t want to leave, why won’t you listen to me?” Bucky snaps, more frantic than angry as he leans forward, elbows propped up on his knees. His fingers spread and cover his face as he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Steve can see his lips mouthing silent words, silent prayers, and the music seems to die out around them. After a few moments, Bucky lets out a soft sigh and puts his hands down, curling his fingers around his thighs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Did Alexander do that?” he asks quietly, covering the brunet’s hand with his own. “Make you feel like your faith wasn’t important?”

Bucky shakes his head, brows knitting together a little as he mutters, “No, no, he just…didn’t _care_. Wasn’t invested in that part of my life at all. But he didn’t want me seeing my family, so I couldn’t go to services, I just did prayers at home, and there’s an old saying that goes, ‘You can’t be a Jew in isolation.’ It was hard on me.” He bounces his free leg a little, glancing around the reception hall. “I just—some of those feelings—I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve knows there something more to this, but doesn’t want to push his husband when Bucky’s already down. So he settles with pulling Bucky’s hand free and kissing his palm gently, watching the older man’s eyes flutter close as he relaxes. “Well,” Steve hums, pressing his mouth to each finger in succession, “do you think a dance might help?”

Bucky laughs a little, eyes still closed, and whispers, “I don’t think it’ll help my uncontrollable urge to light candles, but the next slow song, I’ll let you take me for a spin.”

Tugging on their interlaced hands, Steve pulls Bucky up out of the chair and into his lap. He runs his fingers through the other man’s hair, over the edge of his leather skullcap and down the back of his neck. His thumb swipes over the thrumming pulse point in Bucky’s neck and Steve knows his own has to feel exactly the same. The words he’s been so desperate to say since God knows when are stuck in his throat and it feels like it’s going to choke him if he doesn’t say it out loud soon.

He settles on pulling Bucky into a soft, chaste kiss.

They sit like that for a while, Steve’s cheek against Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky’s chin on the top of his head. Steve wraps his arms tight around the older man’s waist, content to just hold him forever.

But then the music changes to a soft and slow cover of “Halo”, and Bucky rises to his feet, holding out a hand. “I promised,” he murmurs softly, the same distracted look still in his eyes.

They turn slowly to the music out on the dance floor and Steve tries not to think of every worst possibility to explain why the other man is being so damn quiet. Bucky, who will usually talk anyone’s ear off that’s close enough to let him; Bucky, who narrates the movies they watch back in the hotel room; Bucky, who loves to whisper to him until late in the night, has fallen into radio silence and Steve can’t see his face to tell what he’s thinking.

Bucky’s hand tightens on his shoulder and he presses his face to the other side of Steve’s neck, drawing a shaky inhale.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve whispers in his ear before kissing his temple gently. “I’ve got you.”

Another few, painfully long seconds pass before Bucky chokes out, his barely-there voice thick like he’s on the edge of tears, “Can I—can I ask you something, Steve? I really need you to tell me the truth, not just tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“Anything, babe,” he says, thumb rubbing over the small of the brunet’s back.

“You used to date Peggy, didn’t you?” Bucky asks quietly, voice low under the music. “I saw the way you looked at her when she came in. How you were just staring at her when she left. You couldn’t stop staring at her when she and Daniel were talking to us after dinner. Are you still in love with her? Was she ‘The One’ for you?” There’s a note of sad anxiety in his voice that makes Steve’s stomach sink. “It’s okay if she was, I just…I don’t want to be anyone’s second pick.”

He pulls back to look the older man in the eyes, realizing that this is their final watershed moment. If he doesn’t tell Bucky how much he means to him, then there won’t be another opportunity. The wall will have gone up with no chance of coming down.

_Now or never, Rogers._

“She’s not ‘The One’ for me, because _you are_ , Bucky.”

Bucky’s lips part as he lets out a soft exhale. His feet stumble over Steve’s and he grips his hands tighter to keep steady. “You don’t—you don’t mean that,” he whispers, shaking his head imperceptibly. “After everything you’ve said…”

“I want to make this work with you,” Steve says, pulling the brunet against him again. He tucks his hand against the small of Bucky’s back and hopes he can’t feel how hard Steve’s heart is thudding against his chest. “Even with the craziness of the last week, there’s no one else I’d rather battle that craziness with than you. I can see this future for us, and it’s cloudy, but it’s there. I want to stop running from everything I feel when I look at you.”

Bucky pulls away, stopping dead still in the middle of the dance floor. There are bewildered tears in his eyes as he runs a shaking hand through his hair. “I need to—I need some air,” he stammers before hurrying through the crowd toward the exit, leaving Steve in his wake.

Steve blinks once, twice, and pulls himself out of the stupor that he’s in and races after Bucky, shouting, “Wait!”

He’s halfway across the room, halfway to the door, halfway to Bucky, when someone catches his arm and stops him dead. There’s a flash of red lipstick and Peggy’s bright smile comes into his peripheral vision. Steve glances at her before turning back in time to see Bucky disappear through the door to the balcony. “You’re in quite the rush,” she says, pulling him closer to the table. “Daniel and I were about to get a—”

Ripping his wrist out of her grip a little too roughly, Steve says, “I can’t, Peg. I need to go talk to Bucky.”

She looks a little stunned in the half second that he looks at her before disappearing through the crowd. He wasn’t hers anymore and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He had new dreams, new wants. He’s not sure what he would do if Bucky didn’t want him as much as Steve wanted him in return.

When he gets out on the patio, he sees Bucky hunched over the railing, forced smile on his face as he listens to some story from a very drunk Clint. A cigarette and a lighter passes between them and Bucky clicks the Zippo with shaking hands. Smoke spills out of his mouth as he looks back at Steve in mild panic. Clint looks between the two of them and raises his hands up, slurring, “‘m too drunk f’this. Gonna go steal Nat an’dance her.”

They’re left alone in the quiet, soft night.

Bucky doesn’t look at him when he approaches the railing, just ducks his head and pulls another drag.

Steve doesn’t mean for the words to come out as mockingly as they do, but they come out all the same as he chides, “Who’s scared of admitting their feelings now?”

The brunet’s head snaps up, eyes sharp and afraid as he snaps, “I’m not scared of admitting shit, Steve.” He crosses his arms defensively over his chest and sets his jaw. “I just needed some—”

“Yeah, some air and a cigarette that you supposedly don’t smoke.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, quieter and more agitated this time. He puts the cigarette to his lips and sucks hard. “You can’t even tell your friends that I’m your husband but you want to stay married to me?” he taunts, smoke pouring out with every syllable.

“I told Peggy, _didn’t_ I? I told my fucking ex that you’re my husband and I didn’t even hesitate!” Steve shouts, unsure if he’s more angry or desperate at this point. “But that apparently means nothing to you because you clearly don’t give a shit.” Bucky has no retort at this point, only pulls his shoulders tight as he continues. “You don’t give a _shit_ about me or about our marriage or anything, because while I’m over here trying to fight for us, you just ran like you did from Alexander!”

“Shut _up_ ,” the older man chokes, tears welling up in his eyes.

“No, I’m not going to shut up because I feel like a fucking idiot!” he shouts, clenching his fists at his side. “I just asked you to stay married to me, called you my husband in front of arguably one of the most important people in my life. I bared my fucking soul to you and all you do is run off and tell me to shut up?!”

Bucky’s face scrunches up in frustration, like he’s going cry any second, and the cigarette falls from his hand as he grabs Steve by the front of his suit coat. “You don’t _understand_!” he begs, making a distressed noise and dropping a hand to run it through his hair.

“What don’t I understand,” Steve says snidely, “because from here, it seems like—”

“I _love_ you, okay?!” Bucky shouts, pulling Steve into a bruising kiss, words disappearing entirely.

The world feels like it drops out underneath them when they finally pull away from each other after what has to be an eternity. Steve struggles to catch his breath as he watches a tear slip down Bucky’s cheek, cast golden from the lights inside. Every word he can think of is caught in his throat and all he can do is gape like a fish out of water.

Bucky swallows thickly and swipes the salt from his skin with a quick hand, muttering, “I’m sorry—I—I should have told you last night. I should have told you this morning before you left.” A dark blush creeps over his cheeks and ears as he ducks his head. “You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to. You don’t have to say it back at all, okay?,” he says, fumbling with his hands in his slacks as he looks up at Steve. “But I love you. I think you might even be the only person I’ve ever loved.”

It takes Steve a moment for the shock to wear off, when finally he asks, “When? When did you know?”

“When I lost it at the movie theater and you ran back to check on me. When you didn’t make me leave and you held me that night. When I told you what Alexander did to me and you still didn’t run,” Bucky says softly, fear of rejection laced into his wide eyes. “I hope…I hope this doesn’t change your mind about wanting this—wanting me.”

Finally, fucking finally, he can read that distant, worries expression on his husband’s face. Regret.

And Steve knows he doesn’t make the situation any better by only shaking his head. He knows Bucky said he didn’t have to say, ‘I love you,’ in return, and its right on the tip of his tongue, but the fact that he doesn’t say it seems to put doubt in in in the older man’s heart.

Bucky nods with a broken laugh, staring up at the sky as he blinks back tears. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes as he sallows back a sob. “I fucking hate this,” he whispers, wrecked and wretched. “All I want is to be with you and I can’t. I can’t have the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I just have to live with the fact that you don’t love me the way I love you.”

“I didn’t say I don’t love you,” Steve says quickly, taking a step forward and catching Bucky’s elbow.

“But you didn’t say it either, _did_ you?”

“So what, that whole, ‘ _You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to_ ,’ bullshit was just a test?” he snaps and he’s not sure why he’s yelling. “I just told you I wanted to stay married to you! I don’t know what more of an answer you want than that, but if you really love me, you shouldn’t feel the need to test me like that!”

Bucky goes still and quiet, save the shaking in his voice as he swallows and begs weakly, “Please…please stop yelling at me like that.”

Steve blinks for a second and takes in his own body language: his fingers digging into the older man’s arm, his jaw clenched and angry, his breath coming quickly through nose. But his stomach drops when he sees Bucky’s shoulders curled in, body braced. He’s doing it again.

So he lets go, slows his breathing, relaxes his body. “Okay…” he whispers softly, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you. That was my fault.” Bucky seems to crawl from the dark hiding spot in his mind and allows Steve to brush the hair out of his face with careful fingers. “We’re fighting over nothing and I don’t want to do that. I think we both just need to take a deep breath.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his, running his thumb across the silver band on his ring finger. It’s quiet for a moment as the moon peeks from behind a cloud.

“Sunday afternoon, I fly back to Brooklyn. I want you on that flight with me,” he says, the brunet’s fingers curling around his own. “I want you to come back to my shitty studio apartment and I’ll make us rice and beans for dinner. I’ll go down the block and pick up some Kosher wine and you can just _be_ with me. Because I want to stay married and you love me and there’s nothing stopping us from having a life together.”

Bucky lets out a short, breathless laugh, and blinks a tear down his cheek. “Will you…will you bring back some _halva_ when you get the wine?” he asks apprehensively.

Steve lets out his own laugh and kisses him tenderly. “I’ll get you as much as you want.”

They kiss for a few minutes as the dance music thuds softly inside. His hands roam and Bucky lets out a soft sigh into his mouth, bodies pressed terribly close to each other. This was now and this was forever.

And Steve couldn’t wait.

When they go back inside, they catch the last bit of Clint and Natasha flinging each other around the floor in a particularly vigorous swing dance, Clint’s drunken laughter echoing in the hall. Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand to clap when Clint dips Nat low, the music ending. The two friends laugh for a second before taking a bow.

“Can I finally get a dance with my wife?” Sam calls from the sidelines, leading to more laughs and Natasha holding a hand out for him.

The crowd disperses through the tables and the dance floor and Steve leans over to Bucky and whispers, “Can I go talk to Natasha and Sam quick? I just—I want to tell them about us. About us staying together.”

A smile spreads across Bucky’s mouth and he nods, murmuring, “I’m gonna go get a drink. Come find me afterwards, okay?”

He presses a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek and disappears off toward the bar. Steve watches him go for a minute, warmth spreading through his chest and stomach. This was going to work. He was going to make it work. For better or worse, wasn’t it? Steve weaves his way through the dance floor to come to where the newlyweds are chatting quietly at their table. Nat notices him first, pushing the sweat slicked hair back out of her face as she asks, “Where the hell have you been, Rogers? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the speech.”

“I asked Bucky to stay with me, to stay married to me,” he blurts out, heart racing and unable to hide the grin on his face. “He told me he loves me.”

Sam and Nat blink at him in shock for a minute before Sam slaps him on the back and says, “Well, shit, I guess we’re celebrating two weddings tonight! Let’s get this party going!” He grabs Steve around the middle and hauls him into a bone crushing hug. “I’m so fucking proud of you, man,” Sam says, each word accentuated with a shake, before dropping Steve and hurrying off toward the band.

“Don’t mind him,” Natasha says, helping him up and smoothing down her dress. “He’s drunk.”

They bemusedly watch Sam run from the band platform to the bar and similarly accost Bucky, spilling the younger man’s drink all over the counter. Steve snorts and says, “Those are our husbands.”

She laces their arms together and echoes, “Those are our husbands. And we were stupid enough to marry them.” She turns to look up at him and leans her chin on his shoulder. “I’ve known you for twenty-five years, Steve and all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.” Natasha tilts her head over towards Bucky and asks, “Does he make you _happy_?”

“He makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

She kisses him on the cheek and pulls him towards the dance floor. “Good. So let’s celebrate properly.”

The night becomes a blur.

There’s dancing and drinking and laughter and kissing and just pure, unadulterated joy. Steve watches the world exist around them, Bucky’s face in clear focus in front of him the whole time. Those blue eyes, that smile, could keep him grounded through nuclear annihilation if the world came down to it.

At some point he says goodbye to Peggy and Daniel, kissing both of them on the cheeks as his memory flutters in and out. “You’re gonna have to come visit us in Brooklyn!” he slurs, shouting over the music. “Bring Mikey, we’ll even babysit!” Peggy laughs and says something about him being the last to be trusted with children, but Steve can’t remember her exact worlds. His body feels warm, feels bright, feels lighter than ever.

All of the guests filter out around midnight and the party moves to Natasha and Sam’s honeymoon suite. He’s surprised the hotel staff doesn’t shut it down, but with how much money has been thrown down between Nick and Tony, they seem to have free range.

There are more drinks and more dancing and Steve looses track of the party around 2am. All he can concentrate on is Bucky’s long, languid body spread out on top of his on the couch. They’re kissing and his hands are on Bucky’s face and their eyes are closed and they’re married. They’re fucking _married_. Steve doesn’t know what divine providence brought them together, but he can’t thank God enough for it.

Bucky kisses him again and everything blacks out.

Life is good.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two idiots _finally_ opened up to each other!!!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!


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